Aerial Awareness

“You can do it Mom! Way to go!” My almost-12-year-old son was calling out to me from a nearby treetop 30 feet above the ground. We had set out for an afternoon at an aerial adventure park in the bucolic Berkshires in western Massachusetts. My son is turning 12 this week, and we planned the visit as a pre-birthday celebration by doing one of his favorite activities — a thrilling, challenging, high-risk, test of agility, strength, and character. Turning 12 meant that he was allowed to go on the black diamond “run,” so naturally he relished the opportunity to court danger (of course, we were both harnessed and attached the entire time for safety but it was still daunting). I also had not done a black diamond ropes run before, perfectly content with conquering yellows (easiest) and greens in the past. But my son was determined for both of us to work our way up, literally, and you could say I got roped into it.

Last week I started reading the book Wherever You Go, There You Are: Mindfulness Meditation in Everyday Life by Jon Kabat-Zinn, a book about mindfulness. I have been an on-and-off meditator over the years and have found meditation valuable but I had not committed to a regular practice. In concurrence with reading the book, I decided to commit to a daily practice and I am highly enjoying the process. There are many inspirational passages and quotes in the book, including some from Henry David Thoreau’s Walden, a book I last read in high school English class and whose teachings about mindfulness didn’t resonate with me at the time. However, there was one quote I did appreciate back then and it has stuck with me. Thoreau states, “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.” The notion of living deliberately appealed to me then as it still does now, and as I stood atop one of the platforms at the top of the ropes course, I paused for a moment to reflect and think about Thoreau’s mindful message (or maybe just to catch my breath).

On the black diamond ropes course, many of the obstacles and elements required significant arm and core strength, and I was a bit nervous that I didn’t have the stamina or strength to master them. My son strategized that we would start with the easiest course, and then go from there, warming up for the grand black diamond course finale. Wherever you are, there you go indeed. After a green and a couple of blues, we were up to the last labor, Hercules style. I took a deep breath as we climbed to begin the black diamond course; I hesitantly followed my son with trepidation. My son assured me, “Don’t worry Mom, I will coach you through it! Now it is my turn to be the coach!” I broke into a big smile at the role reversal, and admired my son’s enthusiasm and his willingness and readiness to encourage me. Wobbling a bit on my first step, just like a toddler, I stretched my leg out and whiffed, missing the rolling log completely and only just barely pulling myself back onto the platform. “Sh*t,” I muttered under my breath. And then I remembered my breath. I stopped and thought about Kabat-Zinn’s urging to find a moment to pause and think “This is it.” So I took a moment to look out, to appreciate the trees surrounding me, to breathe in the gift of oxygen they provide, and to exhale my anxiety. Then I stepped out and tried again, beginning the journey of what seemed like a thousand steps.

Midway through the course, breathing hard and feeling wiggly, I approached one of the toughest elements — two side by side trapeze-like logs that I had to cross in a sideways fashion to get to the next platform. I watched my son do it first, and noticed that he had a tougher time on it compared to previous elements, and I felt my heart start to beat a little faster in anticipation. Having successfully crossed, once again, he turned to cheer me on. “You got this Mom! I did it and so can you!” Somehow, I managed to make it past the first log and then had to make the transition to the second. I stepped onto it, surprised that I was able to make the leap so to speak, and then I realized I was stuck. Really and truly stuck. My two harness-to-safety-line clips were tangled, preventing me from proceeding along the log, and I couldn’t figure out how to maneuver to free myself or my clips. So there I was, literally hanging on for dear life and at a loss for what to do next. I considered yelling “Staff!,” which is what we were advised to do in the safety video if we needed assistance. But I couldn’t see how a staff person would even get up to me to get me down. So I did what The Martian would do—I “worked the problem” (thanks Matt Damon, via author Andy Weir). I breathed, analyzed the situation, pivoted, and took myself in a different direction. And magically it worked. New directions can be scary, but sometimes they are the only way to proceed.

Back on terra firma, my son greeted me with a big hug, high five, and a satisfied smile. We congratulated each other on tackling the challenge, and on pushing ourselves to test our limits. While my son was also excited about the bragging rights (as any 12-year-old boy would be), I was grateful that I was safe, mostly unharmed with the exception of a bruise or two, and standing on solid ground. Having conquered the course, I paused again, but this time to look up, to breathe out, and to thank the woods for guiding me on how to live deliberately. That’s one unstuck step for me, and one giant leap for mindfulness.