Reflections on diving in: JUMP

Mary Oliver
"Listen, are you breathing just a little,
and calling it a life?…
For how long will you continue to listen to those dark shouters,
caution and prudence?
Fall in! Fall in!"

You know, sometimes I think I am brave…like when I read this poem. After heeding those instinctual "Fall in!" feelings, I think: YOU ARE BRAVE. But then I realize that sometimes biting your tongue and doing the hard thing isn’t enough....Like the first time you jump off the high dive at the public swimming pool. Tiny, wet, raisin toes climbing up the all-too-slick ladder. The only comfort in that moment lies in the fact that the lifeguard (even if it is your 14-year-old neighbor) sits on his authoritative perch a couple of hundred feet away. After looking around at the smiling sister and the proud parent, you see the boy below. Half his normal size because...whoa, you are high up. "Okay. I can do this." You walk, slip those goggles down—they are your only armor—and jump. FALL IN. Hitting the water actually didn't hurt as bad as you thought it might. You tell yourself (as you finally reach the water’s surface): YOU ARE BRAVE. You walk out of that chlorine void with a little more bounce in your step, with your chin raised a little. You look up at the silver mountain you climbed…the Goliath. YES.

After a matter of minutes, days, weeks, or even years you realize: it wasn't that high. In all actuality, the fear you felt ended up dissolving by conquering the giant. Good. Great. The lessons of life from Eleanor Roosevelt, "I gain confidence…" But, what happens when you look back and the fear is gone because you have conquered it. You have FALLEN. But, somehow you feel broken. Immobilized. You THOUGHT you were brave. In fact, as you whisked through the air on your way down, you KNEW you were brave. Nevertheless, in the light of the day, with your goggles thrown away, the high-dive seems a bit lower. Somehow that thought doesn't make you feel taller and your step feels less bouncy. You realize that the paralyzing—the real quadriplegic—fears don't come with what you can and cannot do. Can I really fall in love? Can I actually move away from home and become an “adult”? Can I be a good example to my rebellious little brother? Of course you can. You can do enough, give enough gifts, say enough, work hard enough, make enough clever quips, and love enough. BUT the real fears come when being brave doesn't quite cut it. The doing—the falling—helps you realize that despite your best efforts, you don’t have control of the outcome. Fears start to stem from who you are—your actual essence and true capacities as a person—and not from holes in your resume of friendship, academics, love, or just life. Now, THAT is fear of the worst kind. I've fallen in. I've done my part...but it doesn't seem to even matter. Jumping off a high-dive never equaled an Olympic gold-medalist; the judges appreciate your efforts but don’t hold up a “10.” Its reality: sometimes you are not enough.
That said…
I thank God for the beauty of this depressing breakdown: you don’t have to be “enough.” Falling and failing and crying and attempting to communicate is enough. As I’ve come to find out (I’m a little slow on the uptake), perfection doesn’t exist in the outcome. Perfection exists in those moments—however fleeting they may be—when, in spite of your wedgie from the hot-pink swimsuit, you look through your messy strings of hair and think, "YES." And your friends scream “Was it scary?” and your mom takes a picture. You were perfect in your falling. ENOUGH.