Ah, summertime. That
blessed time of the year when my friends
and I visit
the most beautiful islands and find enchanting beaches on them.
Some of them sandy, easy, accessible, and some of them hidden under
steep rocks. After a climb -which, if you are clumsy like me,
involves your mobile landing screen first on the rocks while you
are trying to take a photo of the breathtaking view- the unique, wild
landscape unfolds in front of your eyes and you just cannot wait to
dive into the clear blue water.
Once I've taken the first dive and relaxed for a
bit, I start looking at the rocks around the beach. Without fail,
there is always a group of young people, often little children too,
who climb up a rock and jump into the water from there. I admire them
for a bit, getting excited at the prospect, and after debating for a
while I join them at the top.
When up there, I look down into the water. How deep
could it be? Is it deep enough or am I going to land on a rock and
die? Perhaps it is too high, although it doesn't look like a long
fall... And what if I fall in an utterly idiotic way and end up in a
wheelchair? Gee, I cannot do this. I start sweating. The sun is hot
on my skin but I don't want to go back to my friends defeated. Oh
look, that little kid just jumped. What is he like, 10 years old?
Surely I can do it too.
I go as near the edge of the rock as I can without
fainting. The rock under my feet is sharp and uneven. I cannot take a
few steps back and then jump because it looks slippery. My heart is
racing, I feel the blood rising to my head. Am I having a heart
attack or a stroke or something? Is that what this feeling is?
Adrenaline. I take deep breaths. I start pep-talking myself:
“Everyone is doing it. People your age, people in
similar shape. You CAN do it. Just go for it. If you don't take the leap now, then when? Don't be
afraid to jump. Never be afraid to jump. Never be afraid in general.”
More deep breaths.
The youths that are jumping talk to me, encourage me.
They're very friendly. They tell me to just walk to the emptiness. A
lad is walking backwards towards the cliff while talking to me.
“Look!” and he just goes for it. When his head surfaces from the
water, he whips his hair, laughs and says “Come on!”. I can't.
People are jumping. One by one, two of them together, quietly or with
a scream of joy, they just do it. I look down one last time. It's now
or never.
I can't. I just can't. I am overcome by
disappointment. Why can't I just take a stupid leap? I used to do
these things all the time when I was a child. What changed
in-between? Did I become aware of the dangers of the fall or did I
just somehow lose my courage? I lower my head and go back to my
friends. I must have stayed up there for the bigger part of an hour.
The whole beach has witnessed the scene. What a failure. “Let's go
in”, I tell my friend.
Maybe taking the leap is something that I am afraid
to do in general. Maybe it has nothing to do with heights, rocks or
jumping. Maybe I am just so terrified of getting hurt that I decide
to just stay in my comfort zone. I will take the road not taken for a
bit, sure, I will explore what is there, but then I will return. I
won't go all the way in. Not without someone holding my hand and
telling me that if we fall, we'll fall together.
Seychelles Beach, Ikaria Island, Greece
