On Taking One Step
I stood on the ledge, 27 feet above the deep pool at the bottom of the waterfall. I had set the intention at the beginning of this adventure trip to Costa Rica that I was going to jump no matter how scared I was. This was the last and highest jump of the course, or so I thought.
Ready for the whole experience to be over, I crossed my arms over my life vest and kept my legs straight, plunging into the water below. I felt the immediate relief of finishing and climbed up the nearby rock wall.
As I settled at the top with the rest of the group of rising high school girls and fellow chaperones, I learned there was an additional optional jump—a 40-foot drop into the same pool from a grated platform protruding out over the cliffside.
I felt eyes from everywhere as I broke out in sobs. I thought I was done. Now this even bigger hurdle stood in the way of accomplishing my goal of completing all the jumps despite my fear of heights. My fiancé tried to comfort me, saying I didn’t have to do the jump, but I wouldn’t hear it. I couldn’t let myself off the hook. If I let myself off the hook now, I’d continue to do it in other areas of my life when things got hard. I had been banking on this accomplishment as future motivation for the times I encounter challenges in life, for feeling the fears but opting to move forward despite them.
I walked out on the grated platform as the guide instructed me on a different body position for this higher jump. In order to keep my body from tilting in the air and having a harsh landing, I had to extend my arms outwards for the first few seconds of the fall and only bring them to my sides right before entering the water. The guide counted to three and I thought I would step out, but my body froze in place. A few more deep breaths. Standing on the edge of that platform with my arms out like wings, I realized I only had to do one thing. One step and it would all be over. Gravity would take care of the rest.
I honestly don’t know how I mustered up the courage to do it. At some point I simply stepped.
As I fell, I don’t remember seeing anything. All my focus was on visualizing my arm position for a clean entry into the water. But instead of falling, it felt like flying.
I can’t begin to describe the pride I felt as I bobbed up.
I hadn’t conquered the fear. I’d done something arguably more impactful. I’d felt the fear, the full body pumping of cortisol and adrenaline, and taken the step anyways. In the process, I taught my mind, my body, my soul that I can feel fear and survive.
Now as I prepare to publish my memoir, to face another school year, to parent a 6-year old, and everything else life sends my way, I have this key knowledge in my back pocket. Fear’s power over me is greatly diminished.
The funny thing about moments when we experience this full-body fear is that the hardest part is usually the first step, just like my jump from the platform. Once you take that step, fear loses all its power, and you gain significant strength.
So, as you move through your week, take a minute to journal about where fear is holding you back the most, and what is your first step in moving forward despite it. What support do you need to take that step?
Maybe your fear is sharing your story. Maybe you’re afraid of owning your truth. You fear being laughed at or ridiculed for believing your story could have a positive impact on others. You fear forgetting the stories you hold close to your heart.
Just as I’ve shared this story with you—to own my truth, so I don’t forget, in hopes that you take something from it for yourself—I invite you to join me and do the same.
