Jumping in to Experiences and New Opportunities
The scene is set. The year is 2013 in Genoa, Italy, in the Mediterranean Sea. Or, more appropriately, above the Mediterranean Sea, as I've just climbed up a pretty sizable rock-face (as I'm wont to do when it comes to deep-enough bodies of water and large surrounding rock formations).
Here I was. By this point, I'd seen a few people jumping off of this rock. I knew immediately that I had to get myself in on all the jumping action. Atop the small cliff, I shielded my eyes and glanced down at my best friend, Kylie, in the water below, having rationally opted out of risky jump in order to keep use of her ability to walk for the rest of her life.
I'm up here. I can't climb back down. That would be ludicrous. People are watching. People are waiting. Just gotta do it. One, two...
And I jumped.
And in those couple of seconds of suspension, it was pure exhilaration. Pure will-it-hurt-when-I-hit-the-water?. Pure, pure, pure in the moment.
Once fully submerged, I'm happy to report that I successfully didn't hit any rocks or solid sea floor - so all was good.
After all, I've never met a rock-jump I didn't love.
Cut to five years later in 2018.
I've just stumbled upon my dream copywriting retreat in Italy, in a beautiful village called Riomaggiore in the Cinque Terre (also on the Mediterranean Sea) - a dreamy place that I've been positively itching to return to, ideally at some point this year.
Feelings of arriving at that beautiful rock-face took over. Climbing it required applying for a spot because when you find something so wonderfully fateful, how could you possibly turn your back on it or let it pass you by?
The exhilaration of being at the top and wondering if I was really (really) going to do it, to jump. Receiving the invitation just hours after sending my application. The process of checking that dates worked out for work and personal life. That I could get an inexpensive flight to hop over to Pisa from Toulouse. That I could work out the finances.
And... in a moment of peace, of pure calm, of quiet suspension -
I jumped. I hit 'Purchase' and booked my ticket.
And now I'm heading to this wonderful writers' retreat in June in the most beautiful place in the world.
Yes, I was scared to commit. No, I didn't know where the funds would come from. I felt scared, but I knew that that feeling positively PALED in comparison to the feeling of yes-this-is-one-hundred-percent-what-I'm-supposed-to-do.
And that's the point of the jump. Not entirely for the feeling of flying, but more so for the overcoming of any fear. To feel proud of yourself for doing it even in the face of such abject hesitation and resistance. When all logical signs point to are you fucking crazy!?
How do you explain this to someone who refuses to take these beautiful risks? The power comes in doing it. I can't convince those I love most that they should do the same, nor should I constantly try to explain myself. Very simply, I can't. I've tried one way or another, but it just doesn't work.
So I've stopped. But I'll continue to jump. To take these beautiful risks (as I've come to know them). That only the best experiences can be found when you firmly decide that it's time to jump. It's time to acknowledge your fear, to be conscious of it - but to altogether carry on with what you know will be one of the most important moments of your day, week, month, year. Of your life.
Stay cool, stay creative -