#indyhall

           Some friends had been to the spot before. I had my own imaginings: a path that led to a distinct peak that almost asked people to launch themselves off it for fun. That it was distinct in my mind ensured a certain amount of safety; whether or not that amount was particularly high wasn’t pertinent. Here’s some context: there’s another cliff right next to the one I jumped off that you can get written a ticket for attempted suicide if you get caught jumping off (or so I hear…locals, feel free to tell me otherwise).

           The reality was different than what I imagined though. Instead of a path that led to a distinct cliff, the spot is more what’s left after a hiking path ends. You essentially walk along the cliff the whole time but there happens to be a kind descent to the water most of the way. That fades by the jumping point, and you’re suddenly just there, and that threw me.

           My then largely unaddressed anxiety disorder saw to it that I hesitated, froze, and thought twice. Then three times, and four times, and so many times the only certainty became that I was utterly insane. And then I went to the complete other end of the spectrum, telling myself, “I didn’t come all the way out here to say I didn’t do something. And I can’t survive something if I don’t do it. And then the only certainty became I was utterly insane for ever thinking twice.

           Still fear ridden I convinced myself to jump. I had been told the best way to do it was mid sentence. I was mid conversation while I stepped to the edge like Wile E. Coyote, moving until I realized there was nothing beneath me. And, like Wile E. Coyote, my eyes got large, I felt as though I stopped right there in mid air, and my right leg buckled as it followed my left.

           I was on my way down when, after a couple seconds, I had a wonderful thought – “I’m still in the air? I’m still in the air!”

           I hit the water with the gravitas of a cat wearing mittens. I didn’t go in straight like a pencil and paid the price (just use your imagination). I plowed through the water posing as concrete until I couldn’t anymore, and then furiously pushed myself to the top. As I came up, my friends held their collective breath like they were the ones under water.

           “Are you okay?”

           “…Yeah. Why?”

           “You looked like you fell off. It was terrifying.”

           “Hahahaha, no…but my butt definitely hurts.”

           I’ve been cliff jumping a couple times since then with varying degrees of success and feeling intimidated. It was always terrifying but always rewarding.

           Once you’re bold, you’re only going to become illegible if you continue on that way.  When I think about it now, I figure cliff jumping isn’t something I need to do again.

          It’s not something I need to do off a cliff again, at least.

          Today I joined Indy Hall. I’ve never done anything that so closely evokes the feelings I had the first time I went cliff jumping. In some sense I’m barely putting my toes in the water, but overall I know I’m doing something bold, scary, and worthwhile. It’s the first step outside of my mind or apartment and into the world around me to become the writer I want to be, the self-employed individual I want to embrace and share more than anything.