Jump

I have been trying to jump off of things more. I realized, while watching my daughters fling themselves from high perches and tumble off of furniture, that I don't jump. It's mostly because I've injured my right ankle so many times that I am instinctively wary of overdoing it on that side. But suddenly I wasn't sure if that wariness was for good reason or not. And so I've been jumping. Off of things, up and down, all around. Dance parties are definitely cause for jumping. And sometimes I jump a little, for no reason at all, as a round the corner to my office.

And that jumping has led to other things I don't normally do, like climbing. Madeleine was struggling to scale up a climbing wall at the playground. "Just go up," we told her. "Not straight across." And as I watched her try and try again, muscles trembling, I thought: Why not show her?

"I'll do it," I announced, and the look of surprise on her face was enough to get me on top of that first step on the wall. And suddenly I realized, muscles trembling much harder than hers had been, that I was not going to be able to get up that wall. But I tried.

I jumped down.

I tried again.

I never even made it past the second notch on the wall. Just an all around stunning failure to ascend. Madeleine seemed disappointed, maybe. But I did try. I hope that's all that matters, in the end. My spectacular failures fading to the background as she remembers looking up at me. Me, stepping out of my comfort zone. And finally going for it.