As the calendar turns to fall, our thoughts turn toward a new season to come, one full of more unknowns than usual. Our thoughts also turned to this lovely essay about embracing the unknown. -Ed.
It wasn’t a dare. It was a polite invitation. Just a simple proposition, really. But it sent my imagination rushing backward, years flashing by.
I curled my toes over the rough rock outcropping and looked out across the lake. Jillian waved her arms gracefully through the top of the water, treading a few feet out from the bank and calling to those of us on the rocks: “Anyone want to swim to the other side with me?” In the glint of the North Cascades sun on the water, I saw the path of my life diverge.
When was the last time I’d taken a running leap and splashed into a body of water? Or run across a field of grass simply because it felt wonderful? Growing up does funny things to us humans. I think it starts when we’re teenagers, growing uncomfortable in our own skins and deathly fearing anything that would make us look or feel uncool. We reign in our natural movements. We start to sneak glances of ourselves in reflective windows as we pass by. We become “too cool” for this, “too grown up” for that.
Many of us become hyper-conscious of our bodies. Would my thighs jiggle unflatteringly if I wear this? Would someone see my flaws if I stepped out in front of the crowd to do that? And instead of facing our fears, we become content to sit on the sidelines. Comfortable. Secure.
The breeze fluttered in the trees over my head as I looked out across the lake, gauging my swimming skills against the still, chilly mountain water. I remembered jumping and diving into the swimming pool over and over and over as a child. It was so simple: It was fun, so I didn’t want to stop doing it.
My freshman year of college, I would load up my friends in a car to drive out to the abandoned limestone quarry on the edge of town. In Speedos and Chacos we’d step cautiously up to the edge of the cliff, waiting for the first one to make the 30-foot jump. Then the rest of us would follow, one at a time making the leap that would send our stomachs into our throats and suck the air from our lungs in shrieks of fear and pleasure. I’m sure part of my motivation to do that was to show off, but one thing I remember is how alive and free I felt.
Ten years later, standing on the edge of the lake in my 30-something body with my early 30-something insecurities, I saw clearly the two directions I could let my mind and heart-and, therefore, my body-go. I could stay wrapped in my towel shyly on the bank and watch while Jillian stroked her way through the smooth, glistening water to the other side. I’d be comfortable. Probably warmer. I’d avoid the bubbly feeling of subtle fear that comes with finding yourself far from the edge of a body of water. There would be nothing inherently wrong with deciding to stay on the beach and enjoying the afternoon at the lake like a grownup, sunbathing on my towel.
But my heart saw the symbolic moment. I think we all face these moments once in a while: Do we content ourselves on the sidelines, watching other people live the crazy, beautiful moments we dream about? Or do we dive into the cold water, braving the tinges of fear and coming alive in the adventure again the way we were when we were too young to worry about acting “grown up?”
So I jumped.
Photo: Mael Ballaban/Unsplash
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Great essay! Dude told me the other day to “leave it for the young kids.” Response: “but at that point, aren’t we just spectators?” He told me we have to be spectators. I’m not buying it. Love Hilary’s decision to jump!
nice…we need more of this stuff in our hyper-cool, gopro generation. simple things that feel so good and make us feel alive. well spoken.
Amen Hillary!
Hells yes!!
I am trying to start a “JUMP!” day at Seven Falls in Tucson wherein you hike up Bear Canyon dressed like David Lee Roth in the Van Halen “Jump!” video, then jump into the big pool. A charitable event. First you go door-to-door dressed like Dave & get pledges. Then you hike to the pools, jump in front of the judges of the contest. Funds would be used to pay scientists to seed clouds so we could get rain so we could jump into the pools. Having trouble getting this thing going, though, because it is a drought and there is no rain & the pools are dry so there is no water to jump into. Actually I may have “miraged” this whole thing because I am overly parched.
I still jump. I’m in my 50s. Maybe from that next lower ledge.
My son’s friend stood on the lip for 20 minutes. Across the river, the local contingent yelled “Don’t be a pussy!” I’ll never forget his reply, yelled back across the sound of the river: “I don’t abide by gender stereotypes”. He did jump, but on his own terms.
Thirty something body, wahahaha, makes you sound so old.
Yeah, keep jumping, it’ll get harder as you get older, but if you keep it up it’ll help you see the world in a brighter and healthier way.
Thirty something, as if that’s a thing, awesome!
The photo is awesome! I had to google and find the original: https://www.pexels.com/photo/person-jumping-in-to-water-3098694/
the jumping is the easy part. the hitting the water wrong is the hard part 🙂
God, I’ve been in this exact place. After two pregnancies, and deeply immersed in the selflessness required of raising two young kids, I had become quite protective of my moments of comfort. And I stood above that cold cold water that I had let embrace me so many times before and didn’t want to drop the towel and jump. Instead, I made my mantra “embrace discomfort” and went for it. There’s so much to be gained by making those leaps — physical, mental, and emotional. When we get worn down by life, family, work, viruses, we lose some of our resiliency that makes it seem possible to go for it. Re-finding that, re-creating that, or simply re-minding ourselves that it is hidden in there somewhere, is the epitome of self-empowerment.
I’m 54 and I still don’t hesitate to jump! However … I am recovering from a fractured elbow and had just recovered from surgery to repair a detached tendon … so maybe I’m not a good example.