#7 :scoot or jump?

I am terrified of heights. This is important context for this story.

A few years ago, I led a week-long yoga and meditation retreat in my most favorite country in the world, Costa Rica. As a fun team-building activity, I organized a five-star Yelp-verified zip-lining tour in the clouds of the rainforest.  

I am terrified of heights.

The experience consisted of jumping from 9 different tower platforms high in the cloud forest while strapped into a crotch-squishing harness. Each jump is designed to be higher and more exciting, more terrifying, more cortisol-inducing than the one you just completed. 

Did I mention my fear about heights?

The final jump was from a high platform that was located on one side of an enormous canyon. If you looked down, (which they tell you not to do, but of course I immediately did), you could see the sharply jagged rocks that formed the deep canyon. There was a roaring river that cut through the canyon that looked angry and vengeful. It was so far down that the dirt that fell off my shoe seemed to warn me that my death was imminent.

As the leader of the group, I had decided to go last. You know, to make sure no one was left behind.

I watched one-by-one, as each brave soul jumped and screamed with wild abandon. Terrified.

When it was time for my jump, all of my retreat participants were joyfully waving at me from the safe side of the canyon. I could see them encouraging me, but I couldn’t hear them over the roar of the river in the canyon.

The sullen teenager manning the jumping platform was bored and stood scrolling on his phone. I did not feel that he was paying adequate attention to what was about to happen. He must have sensed my seething anxiety, yet he didn’t even look at me when he said,

“You can just sit down on the edge and scoot off when you’re ready.”

Oh hell no. He didn’t just tell me to scoot.

I was angry, indignant, irritated, and annoyed by his comment. It helped distract from the knee-shaking terror I was really feeling.

Clearly, he had no idea who he was talking to.

I am not the kind of person who makes the long journey to Costa Rica and organizes an activity that she knows will help her be a better, more adventurous person and scoots off the edge.

I am not the kind of person who has 15 members of a yoga retreat face their fears only to wimp out when I have to put my money where my mouth is.

I am not the kind of person who gets to the most challenging part of an experience and chooses to scoot. 

I do not scoot. 

I took a deep breath. I looked at that bored teenager who was responsible for my safety. I looked right into his eyes. I’m pretty sure he rolled his.

I jumped. 

I jumped with my heart in my throat, screaming like a little monkey.

It was this choice, this jump that taught me a very important lesson in my life.

We get to choose the kind of person we want to be.

We get to choose how we respond when faced with challenges.

We get to choose to be the person who shows up, looks fear straight in the face, and jumps.

Or…we can choose to scoot.  

It’s not that jumping or scooting itself makes a big difference. The end result was the same. I would be happily reunited with my people on the other side of the canyon.

The difference was in how I saw myself. The difference is that I wanted to be a certain kind of adventurer. I wanted to be the kind of person who looked fear in the face and faced it. I wanted to be the kind of person who made the choice to be brave.

Now, when things get difficult, I often imagine myself on that platform. When I want to scoot, when I want to hide from fear, I remember how good it felt to face that fear. I remember the freedom and joy of jumping. I remember, vividly, the euphoria of proving to myself that I am the badass adventurous woman I have always wanted to be.

Maybe the next yoga retreat, I will organize a surfing lesson. Since I can’t really swim and I’m terrified of big ugly fish.

Or maybe we will stay put.

You never know…..