Chickenwuss

I belong to a group that meets weekly and last night one of the members took us through a journaling exercise based on the idea of where we are in our lives. Given my situation of anxiety and fear over making a metaphorical leap, I instantly thought of the times my friends and I would go cliff jumping at Hamburg Cove; a small inlet off the Connecticut River with rock faces that reach as high as 50 feet. When the river was at high tide, we would jump off spots of varying heights, but the mother jump was right at the top. Jumping at low tide is not smart because you increase the risk of getting stuck in the mud and possibly drowning. It’s always better to jump when the conditions are right.

My feeling of being at this juncture is a lot like the first time I made the big jump. At 50 feet up, the water looks a long way down. The jump at 15 feet is easy; even the one at 20 feet isn’t so bad. It’s the mother jump that strikes the fear and I watch people – even snotty little 12 year olds – jump with excitement and apparent ease, as if it’s something they’re suppose to do or something that everyone just does. And yet, my feet felt like cement blocks and it will take a miracle for me to airborne.

What if I jump wrong? What if I hit the water wrong? What if it hurts? What if I get stuck? What if I drown? What if?

And then the moment comes; that moment where the obvious truth slaps me in the face and asks me, “What are you going to do about it?” The aforementioned snotty 12 year old steps up to where I am, turns and calls me a Chickenwuss and carelessly launches himself out and over this piece of the river, splashing down and surfacing all the while people around me are mocking me and my fear. I have no choice now. If I don’t jump right at this moment, it will haunt me every day of my life. My arms start swinging back and forth, my legs and body rocking with them. I can feel my self edge closer and closer to my toes.

My legs drive and launch up and off the rock face, out over the river and for a second I am just hanging in space.

I can’t believe I did it! I jumped!

But my excitement and pride are short lived and I focus on the fact that I’m descending quickly. I try to take in the scenery from up here but it’s all such a blur that I can’t remember anything. And though I think I have all the time in the world with this flying bit, my fall is rapidly coming to an end and I begin to focus on hitting the water the right way – straight as an arrow, feet flat and parallel to the water. I torpedo in and it’s as if someone applies the breaks for me. My legs and arms spread and slow my submersion. I surface and catch my breath; not because I forgot to hold it before hitting the water but because of the adrenaline rush.

It wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be and it was more exhilarating than I could have ever imagined. My friends are back up at the top cheering my triumph and I swim over to the base of the rocks, climb up, reach the trail that takes me back to the top and I do it again.

And again.

And again.