Jumping The Falls

My 1997 yearbook entry...all I remember writing is: JUMPING THE FALLS.

Where I grew up, as in many small towns, fun was usually oriented around trying to get yourself killed, as many a grandparent would say. We drank too much, partied in the woods and when we wanted a real thrill, we'd drive more than an hour out of town to JUMP THE FALLS.

This is a gorgeous double waterfall in the middle of Nova Scotia - on private land. You have to hike in and ignore the warning signs, including signs that explicitly say NOT to jump the falls. You have to jump off a small cliff (15 ft) into a pool of water that leads to the big falls (52 ft) into a slightly larger pool of water.

So I decided this day I was going to finally do it. I walked up to the edge, wrapped my toes around the spiny rock and closed my eyes. I lost my cool. I stepped back. My friends encouraged me, "You can do it! Just count to three and go!"

It took a minute to step up again...I had a fear of heights. It developed when I was a child because of the massive suspension bridge that lead to the city across the harbour. I just remember being on the bridge in a school bus one day and it swaying in the wind. I had recurring nightmares about the dozens of ways it could crumble beneath me ever since.

I got back to the edge with my friend's encouragement. The counted off..."ONE! TWO! THREEEEEE!"

I took a step and jumped...sort of. My leg felt like rubber. I faltered. But I was falling. I felt the back of my head brush the rock of the cliff on the way down. I hit the water and went under. I popped up. I was alive. Conscious. Unhurt. INSANELY TERRIFIED.

I started to panic. You see, the only way out of the first pool, was to jump more than double the distance into the second pool. And the only way to jump was to let yourself be swept towards the edge, catch the rock in the middle and climb up, jumping from the wet rock in the middle of the rushing falls.

Even as I write this, I feel terrified. But somehow I made it to the rock, clamoured up and stood. My legs felt like shuddering leaves. I knew I could not make this second jump. I began to cry.

My friends shouted encouragement. But finally they understood. After getting over my embarrassment, I asked for help. They responded by making a human chain down the opposite side of the pool to pull me out. Five friends. All linking arms and legs to make sure one of us didn't get seriously injured.

For a long time, I felt like a failure. So I committed, with this yearbook entry, that I would jump those falls someday.

But jumping those falls isn't what I need to do. In fact, that experience has made me extremely wary of following the herd. It taught me to find my own path and figure out what is worth the terror. It also taught me to how to ask for help, even though you don't want to admit needing it.

Being afraid to do something that you deeply care about is different than being afraid of something someone else thinks you should do. Figuring out the difference has made all of the difference.