How a cliff jump did more than conquer my fear of heights

Recently I was listening to the Reinvention Roadtrip podcast with Jes Averhart.  In the first episode of season 2, she talked about the comfort cliff.  It was about the stages of (dis)comfort we go through to move from who we are, to jumping into the possibilities of who we are meant to be.

I couldn’t help but think back to a trip I took to Las Vegas a few years ago.  I was newly single, my son was with his dad for a few weeks, and I took myself on a solo vacation.  It was a time for facing fears and trying all the things that scared me.

There were so many fun and adrenaline-filled stops on that trip.  

I head banged my way through a Nine Inch Nails concert when I landed and found out they were in town.  Took a helicopter ride, because they have scared me since I saw my first one up close on a Marine Base when I was 5.  Hung off the side of the Stratosphere in a roller coaster and shot myself up in the air to conquer my fear of heights.

But none of them compared to the cliff jump.

The view from the bottom

I love to kayak.  Rather than make the entire trip about ear-splitting music and facing extreme fears, I thought I’d find one of my favorite activities.

There was a kayak ride along the Colorado River that looked interesting.  A group of us went out with a guide to drop in and spend a few hours on the river.  The water was cold, but the sun and air were warm, creating a refreshing experience.

On the way back, the guide had us stop at an outcropping.  He offered the option for us to jump off a cliff.  Our choices were to watch, jump at 5 feet, 10 feet, or 20 feet. 

The way I saw it, he was offering a more philosophical choice.  To be an observer, or to take increasing levels of risk.

As each person expressed their choice, more than half the group opted to watch.  Of those of us that jumped, I watched one after the other jump in at 5 feet.

I wanted to go, but 5 feet seemed like it wasn’t much of a risk.  It was like stepping off a curb.  Something that didn’t take much thought or fortitude.  Not that much more than observing.

The real question was whether I’d go with 10 feet or 20.  When no one went above 5 feet, I knew.  If I could hang off the side of a building, get shot into the air, and fly in a helicopter, I could jump off a damn cliff.

The scary unknown

I remember asking myself…do I want to be an observer?  No. Do I take the small predictable jump?  No again.  As long as I was going to do a hard thing, why not the hardest thing?  The thing that scares the hell out of me.

Standing at the edge of that outcropping was terrifying.  It was so much further away from the water than it seemed from down below.  What if I slipped or didn’t jump out far enough and hit my head?  I knew there wasn’t medical assistance nearby if anything went wrong.

When faced with the reality of my choice…getting closer to that edge…was I really prepared to take the leap?  Staring out at the scary unknown, we can walk back to where it’s safe.  Or we can jump.

Everything in my mind and body tells me to avoid risk.  I’m a project manager by trade and am very risk aware.  But nothing worth having in this life comes without risk.  

It might be scary at times, but I want to be able to say I wrung every ounce of potential out of myself in this lifetime.  I don’t want to watch the world turning and turning, never really knowing what I’m capable of.

So I jumped.  Joyous.  Terrified.  Silent as I saw the water approaching.  Jubilant and freezing as I came up for air.

Take the leap

Now I know.  I can be afraid and jump anyway.  Inch my way forward, finding my footing.  Forward and back, looking for my spot.  And then leap.  Eyes and arms wide open…I can leap.

The unknown becomes known.  The scary becomes conquered.

As I go into the next phases of my life and career, I am asking myself what each step represents. Am I making my way forward to the edge of the cliff? Or repeatedly jumping off 5 footers with no real risk?

It’s still scary up here, looking out into the abyss, but I have to choose my fear. Fear of jumping or the fear of never having tried.

What’s your cliff?  Consider what might be holding you back, keeping you an observer or making small moves.  

I encourage you to claim every inch as you find your way, but to keep moving forward.  Until that moment when you leap.  The moment when you fly.