Mastery Of Restraint

I used to jump off these cliffs and into the water 60 feet below.

Today, I'm walking in the woods with Ava. After winding through the tree cover we pop out along a stretch of cliffs that drop sharply into Lake Champlain. The patchy sky's either concealing or revealing a sunny backdrop that's sort of giving me the vibe of a light bulb on the brink of going out. Or, I guess it could be coming to life. Either way, it's quiet. It's calm and serene and peaceful and Ava and I are looking at each other as we walk down a path covered in a pine-needle carpet, crunching our way through fallen twigs and branches.

I grew up cliff jumping.

It’s exactly what it sounds like and it’s where I think I learned the most about fear... standing on the jagged edge of a rock and pushing off into a free-fall above the water. I loved it. My mom didn't. Ok well, I loved some parts of it. The other parts took a bit of getting used to. Like the lead-up to jumping is where my fear was the worst. That's where all the anticipation and tightness in my chest would morph into butterflies and swirl around my stomach. Despite all that, it was—and still is—fun.

But I'm just observing today, not jumping.

And Ava's done waiting. I can hear her sniffing at something and I know she's about to whimper-whine for us to keep walking. So we do. With each step, I feel lighter. There's no breeze, and there's no one else in either direction on this trail, either. Just Ava and I, clomping our way through a midday stroll.

I'm smiling.

And I'm thinking about all that cliff jumping taught me. For as much as I like cliff jumping, I'm realizing I don't need to chase the rush of it quite like I used to. I know I can manage my fear now. I think back then, I was still proving to myself that I could.

I look over at Ava and she's trotting with her ears perked up. She's just seen a squirrel, but she doesn't leave my side. It's clear she's tempted, but she just keeps padding along.

"Look at us," I think.

"Both showing off our mastery of restraint."

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Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
234/365

What's something you no longer feel the need to prove to yourself?

onward.

For more on this daily column and The MAP Year Project, read the backstory here. And if you know someone who'd appreciate this, pass it along.