Jumping, Letting Go & Other Terrible (But Beautiful) Ideas

I'm 8. I'm sitting on a chaise lounge snoozin in the warm sun, poolside. Everything is good. Everything is well. I open my eyes to look around, the lifeguard catches my glance and we smile politely through squinted eyes.

There's something over there. I see it and I wonder. Its the high dive. Not just the regular one, the extra super high one that looks like a killing machine. I don't know how to dive. But I'm staring at it and wondering and I don't know why I can't just look away. I've never taken the plunge before; I know others who have, but it's never felt right to me.

Then something happens. I'm sitting up and with both feet on the cement, they start walking. One foot in front of the other. Towards the killing machine.

I don't know what's happening. But I'm drawn to this high dive. I'm compelled beyond reason. Beyond logic. To jump. Even though 45 seconds ago everything was good, everything was well. Why would I trade my warm terry cloth beach towel and comfy chaise lounge for the chilly mile high plunge? I'm a sensible girl and none of this seems sensible at all to me. I don't even like swimming. What if I get hurt? What if I pass out on the way down and never come up to the surface? What if I end up humiliated? What if I drown and the lifeguard never comes to my rescue?

This fear is the realest thing I've ever felt.

But both hands have reached the railing now and one foot has started up the metal steps of the ladder. I'm climbing, slowly, heart racing, terrified of jumping but even more terrified of not. I can't explain it. My stomach is in my chest now, its hard to breathe, but I'm standing my ground despite my fear. It's one foot in front of the other, to the top of the world.

I catch the lifeguards eyes for security, he smiles warmly and nods with encouragement, evidence that his faith in me exceeds my faith in him.

The board bounces subtly under my feet. Its scratchy surface offers me no comfort of any kind. Its an amazing view from up here, I see clearly beyond the pool yard, down the boulevard and past downtown. I see my lounge chair, my towel, my 7-UP and the Highlights Magazine I was just reading, I see my moms car....I see everything I just walked away from, for reasons I can't adequately explain to anyone. Everything I'm giving up blatantly lies before me. But I know I want this more than any of that. There's no guarantee, no real security that when I fall off this board that it will turn out okay or even be worth it.

My toes curl over the edge. Where did this courage come from? Through the terror theres this peace and grace and confidence and a sense that this leap is right. But there's still no guarantee.

I can't stand in this place long, I came to jump. And if I stand here too long I'll reason myself out of this and give into the realest fear ever.

I look down into the blue, and up to the sky, I steal one last reassuring glance from the lifeguard and with one very deep breath.....

I decide that this is crazy and that this jump is a ridiculously bad idea and I don't want to get hurt or wet and I'd rather be cozy and safe drinking my 7-UP and working on the crossword puzzle in my Highlights magazine than challenging myself in any way, so I turn around and climb down. 

I close my eyes and step off.

IMadeItThroughAnotherDay

I titled this blog WeMadeItThroughAnotherYear.

Tonight, I'm rejoicing that I simply MadeItThroughAnotherDay.

Every once in a while I morph into a total freak over night. I get weepy during Barney's 20th year anniversay episode. I eat cheese from a can. I make up crazy things in my head about people hating me and then believe them. I make rash decisions, but only ones that can be undone, because deep deep down I'm not actually that irrational.

But only once a month, and it only lasts a day or two.

Thank God, because the world would come undone if it lasted any longer.

Today, after a sleepless night, not a singing toothbrush sleepless night but a sick moaning child wiggling around all night kind of sleepless night, it was one of those days I had morphed into someone else. A crazy person.

I can't give details of the damage that ensued.

I won't admit if I ate cheese from a can this time.

But I will say, I'm really really glad that somebody isn't keeping score.

I'm thankful for grace.

IMadeitThroughAnotherDay.....and tomorrow is a chance to try again.

12 Hours

Drank a cup of coffee at 8pm last night.

I'd never done that before. And I'll never do it again.

Had an awesome energized time with the Lord.

Took a dose of Nyquil at 9:30 to reverse the effects of the coffee.

Crawled in bed at 10:30 with the dizzy spins.

Heard something I thought was a bird outside.

Heard it again a few minutes later.

But I was paralyed in a mid winter's night coma and I thought it would eventually cease.

It taunted me. Us. Constantly. All. Night. Long.

Though I couldn't make out what the noise was.

Around 4am, EJ and I, after being disturbed throughout the night came to a verbal conclusion: It's Justin Bieber, the toothbrush.

He was trying to sing to us all night long, that when we smile, he smiles.

Neither of us were smiling at that point.

Who's getting out of bed to face the 20 degree temperature, climb down the ladder and put the malfunctioning crooning toiletry out of its misery?

After some convincing and pleading, at 5am like a mini Macgyver she shimmied down the loft and brought me the torture stick.

At 6am, in the exhaustion of a wasted night, the absurdity of the situation finally got to us.

We were smiling.

We were now laughing.

And the sun was officially shining through the tops of the trees.

The toothbrush was still singing away and I was ready to take a hatchet to the thing once and for all.

But the day had begun, waffles were being toasted, and the show must go on, sleepless night or not.

By 8am, as I poured the orange juice and stirred the coffee, sanity barely intact, I had enough clarity to remove the batteries.

With the brush sitting here next to me as I write this, I feel like a victim of some pop culture torture.

I only hope the Biebs is out there smiling somewhere, cause after a night like that, I certainly am.