Taking the Leap

How do we know when we are ready to jump? Why is it that we can stand on the precipice in fear, our hearts pounding against our ribs, our breath difficult, sweat pooling as we think "I can't. I can't!" and then suddenly - we just do.

I remember when Tessa was quite young, years ago, and we went to a pool with a high diving board. She climbed the ladder, stood at the top, and froze. She really couldn't do it. She tried several times, bowing her head, her cheeks red, as she backed down the ladder to let the next person climb up to take the leap.

But then one day -she trembled at the top, but then she leaped. She splashed. She swam, spluttering and smiling, to the wall, climbed out of the pool, and went straight back in line. She never hesitated again.

I'm interested in understanding that moment between knowing "I can never; it's not possible" and "I'm terrified, but I'm doing it anyway."

***

Some people seem to naturally go for it. Some people are born at ease in the world.

I am not one of those people. I'm awkward and confused and eager to please, quick to wonder if I'm the one at fault. I often think that everyone else has it figured out, and I'm left wondering when I will figure it out.

But then people reveal their truths, and I realize that those at-ease people aren't at-ease at all. Very few people are, actually. Everyone is scurrying around, trying to prove something to themselves, or their fathers, or someone, that they are okay. It's a rare person who radiates joy and peace.

Once I started looking for the "radiating joy and peace and at one with themselves so they weren't afraid to jump" people, I started to see how rare they were.

***

My grandfather - the one in the "Telling" post, the one who was a Nazi soldier - took risks. But he didn't do it with love and joy, and he felt no peace. He plowed through everyone in his path, knocking other people down with insults, money, or power, so that he could get what he wanted. He took financial risks, and he took relationship risks. The financial risks paid off: he died with a lot of money in the bank. The personal risks did not pay off: rather than garnering respect for his professional accomplishments and wealth, he died without a friend. I remember 12 people at his funeral; though he barely knew my ex-husband (they didn't even bother going to our wedding) my ex was a pall-bearer because they didn't have enough people to carry his coffin (and his granddaughters, flesh and blood he'd known all their lives, didn't count, because they were female).

So, he found the courage to move to a foreign country (twice), starting his life over. But I think he was running away as much as anything. I rarely saw joy in him, and I never saw peace.

***

There are a few people that seem to know things like when to jump. Oprah, Barack and Michelle Obama (together and separately), Maya Angelou (rest in peace), Brene Brown, and Cheryl Strayed come to mind. These people draw people from near and far - we're drawn to them; we can't get enough. I think it's because they know how to be their best selves, that they have tapped into something deep within themselves that we really want.

When Oprah says "this I know for sure..." I am sure that she really does know. When Barack said "yes we can" I believed him. When Maya said that she was phenomenal, I didn't have a doubt in my mind.

They are so sure of who they are that they take the leap. They become presidents and poets, writers and wives, philosophers and professors, because they are sure. They just - leap. And we watch them, and we are awed.

But I've read enough of their words, seen enough of their stories, to know that if any of them were reading this, they'd shake their heads and say, "no, no, no."

Just because they do it doesn't mean it is easy.

***

When Tessa stood at the high board, failing and climbing down on multiple occasions, she wasn't failing at all. She was proving that she was bigger than her fear. She measured the size of the fear - height, width, depth - and found it immense. But at one point, one that she knew was coming - for, after all, she didn't climb up just once and change her mind, she climbed up again and again. She must have know, somewhere deep inside, that she COULD do it.

The very first time she was climbing down the ladder, there was still a little voice inside her that said, "I'll try again. I can." She failed many times before she succeeded - but then, I think that's wrong. She never failed. She just wasn't ready. When she was ready, she leaped. The success was always lurking within her.

I know my daughter is brave because she was terrified, but she chose to overcome her fear. She made a conscious decision to do the thing that scared her.

Have I mentioned yet that she is my favorite person, and that while she certainly drives me crazy, she is also incredible, strong, and wise beyond her years?

***

I'm trying to take the leap in several places in my life. I have an old, valued friendship that is falling apart, and I'm taking the leap to bring my authentic self to it even if that means that the friendship is over. I'm trying to write, and to share something true as I write, not just words. And I'm trying to put myself out there to find a partner who makes me laugh and helps me grow and fits me like my favorite pair of jeans.

Not easy.

I'm still at the top of the high board, trembling. No, wait, I'm mid-air! Will I survive the fall? Will the pool embrace me with a laugh, or turn to stone as I land?

My story will unfold. I don't know how it ends. But I know this: pools don't turn to stone. I'm a good swimmer. And the falling, the letting go, comes with some freedom. Maybe it's easier to fall than it is to tremble at the top, questioning every move. Maybe I was made to fall. No, maybe I was made to fly, to splash, to feel the water's embrace.

Aren't we all?

Where are you standing, trembling? Where are you leaping? What is the shape of the water you're diving into?

I think it's time. It's always time. My heart is pounding, my skin is sticky with nervous sweat, and I'm not sure why what looks so easy for everyone else is so hard for me, but I'm doing it anyway.

Ready, set....