On trying and not making it – 34/100

I’m up in the mountains this weekend with a good friend from my Spiritual Psychology program. We went hiking this morning and on our way down, we hung out by the river.

We rock-hopped a bit, which I love. There’s something about charting the course, escaping the water, sometimes barely, below me that draws me. I can’t stay confined to the side of the river when there’s a playground in front me.

When we decided to head back, I was on a rock in the middle of the river – closer to land than the middle, actually – and I had set my eyes on a small rock wedged between two bigger rocks – my landing pad.

It was definitely a stretch but I thought I could do it. And I wanted to.

Jolie had already crossed a different way and was waiting on the edge. She saw I was eyeballing the rock and asked if I thought I could do it, and if I wanted to.

I said yes and yes.

And continued eyeballing the rock, gauging my current foothold, my thighs trembling a little with adrenaline and the tension and tautness that comes right before an outburst.

Jolie said in a non-imposing way that she’d prefer I didn’t because she didn’t want me to fall. Which was understandable because I would have already leaped if I knew I could do it.

I took that into consideration because as much as I like trying new things, I’m okay with leaving the river in one piece.

But a thought crossed my mind – What’s the worst that can happen?

I would fall into the river and it was no more than thigh deep. Maybe I’d scrape or bang myself. And it’d be cold but there would also be the sun to dry me.

I stared a little longer and I knew I was going to do it.

I ground my left foot into the slope of the rock I was standing on to get better traction though I was kidding myself – it was already slippery from the water on my shoes (from a previous leap that landed my foot in the water).

Anyway, I took one more hard look at the rock, took a quick breath, and jumped.

And missed.

I landed nicely in the river with both feet, ice cold water up to my crotch area.

I laughed and pulled myself out.

I had thought I could, I felt like I could. So I did.

And that was enough.

As cheesy as it sounds, it was enough that I tried.

It makes life fun. It makes life easy. It makes life free.

Trying and not making it used to be one of my greatest fears.

So much so that I stopped trying.

And, as dramatic as it sounds, I stopped living.

That’s no fun.

I’ve become so much more about trying and just trying, regardless of outcome.

And allowing myself to be and do whatever was coming through. There’s a certain sense of triumph in just that – the being and doing completely free from the result.

It’s the human spirit – perhaps just Spirit.

It’s Spirit that says, Come, let’s go. Let’s do together – you don’t have to know everything – or anything. You can step onto new territory, onto new grounds. Whether success or failure – let go of your ideas of such things. Come, let’s go.

It’s Spirit that whispers and beckons and tugs at my heart and soul, inviting me on this grand adventure.

And all I have to do is say Yes.