Twenty Four Hours

I gripped the rungs of the ladder, excited. Kids laughed and hollared and water splashed in the pool beneath me as I placed my foot on the first cool, metal rung.

Quickly, I ascended, afraid to look down. The top of the ladder came quickly, and as my eyes became level with the diving board, I realized for the first time exactly how high in the air I was.

What would happen if, at the top, you froze and couldn't get yourself down? Would they call in the fire department like the do when a cat gets stuck in a tree?

All of time stood still for a moment. Butterfiles rose up in my stomach, and fear trickled slowly from my core, into my arms and legs, and on to my fingers and toes. 

It was quiet from the top. A place of relative solitude. The kids down below looked small, and even the lifeguards - in their towers of authority - were beneath me. 

I was on my own, and while I wanted to feel the rush of the dive, I was terrified to actually jump from the diving board now that I was standing on it. 

Whether it was fear of humiliation, the uncertainty of what would happen if I simply sat on the diving board and refused to come down, or my innate sense of courage and adventure, I'm not sure. 

I walked to the edge though. I took a deep breath, and I jumped, a scream of terror and delight escaping my lips as my body hung in the air and began plummeting down. 

When I crashed into the water and made my way back up for air, I couldn't imagine not having had the courage to make that leap.

***

"How are you feeling about the move?" 

With twenty-four hours left, maybe this helps answer that question.

***