So I jumped.

Well, jumped is a bit of a stretch. I fell forward with my arms halfheartedly stretched out in front of me so that it would look like I was trying to catch trapeze bar. I didn’t even touch it. The rope caught me and I was lowered gently to the sweet, sweet ground where I belong.

And it was done. I looked around for the boy that I wanted to impress but he wasn’t there. He never saw my jump. Apparently, he was crushing on some other girl, a pretty older girl who had the good sense to ditch the rope course and tan by the lake instead. I walked my pasty-white self back to my cabin alone.

The only life lesson that I learned that day was that you shouldn’t jump off a tree to impress a boy, but to be honest, that’s not a situation that comes up very often. I suppose I could have worked out some greater lessons about peer pressure or being true to yourself, but I didn’t dig that deep. I just swore off rope courses.

Until now, that is.

I saw the look on my daughter’s face when I dragged her away from the ropes course and I realized that my fears were holding her back. I need to stop that. I want my children to ride roller coasters and try zip lines and drive over skyways while I hyperventilate in the passenger seat. I can’t let my fears rule their lives.

So I suppose we’ll be heading back to the rope course at some point this year so that she can give it a try. She needs to face her fears. Just as soon as I work on mine.

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