Choosing Courage Over Comfort : A Short Story

There are very few moments in our youth where we can actually recall a cosmic invitation to dance with our fear. I was always an observant child, and I can remember a number of pivotal moments in my life where the Universe called out my inner warrior. A time and place that would shift your future self from one road to another.

I was age 7, and my sister and I were at my dads for the weekend in one of his many dumpy apartments. I remember this particular apartment because it was the only one where he lived that had a pool. My childhood memory is kind, and paints it like a perfect Palm Beach summer pool. The pool was in the shape of a rectangle and the mere look of it was quenching and inviting for anyones inner child who loved a good canon ball. However, age 7 is still a time where the pool can be either friend or foe, and as a deeply timid and emotional child, I was terrified.

Here is the thing about my dad, if he even got a whiff that you might be intimidated or afraid of something, he would make it his high priority to have that fear faced and defeated by the end of the day.

As my sister splashed into the water, I made my delicate way to the stairs, my dad immediately stopped me. Dad was obviously NOT a toe dipper when it came to pools, and that weekend, he wasn’t about me being either. He casually, yet firmly said, “You can only enter the pool by way of jumping.” I cringe as I write, for my dad was as fierce as he was interesting, and certainly not to be trifled with. There was no way I was going to be able to get in that water without doing it his way.

I stood there, feet at the very edge of the pool, for 10 minutes. I wasn’t crying, I wasn’t pouting.

I was in a complete daze.

Staring not at the water, but through it. As if I were attempting to understand it, perhaps even make friends with it so it didn’t swallow me up on contact. My dad sat there in the most intense silence, peeking from the corner of his paper to see the progress I had made.

He said nothing. No words of encouragement, no taunting, just nothing.

I paced back and forth, having moments of bravery as I felt my body merge into the air, but to my surprise my feet would still be completely rooted to the ground. I couldn’t bring myself to brave that jump in the water. I was frozen.

The fear of the unknown, and the fear itself was paralyzing me, body and soul. In that moment of wanting, I started to weep.

I have memories of my dad being a tyrant, but equally a sensitive man. He had so much gentle depth to his soul, it was clear in very authentic moments. In the midst of my crying, he placed his paper down though never left his chair. He leaned forward, as if to make better eye contact with me, and gazed upon my distraught face, smiling softly. In our moment of just staring at each other in silence, I felt the permission to feel afraid, but also the cruel truth that if I wasn’t careful, fear would ultimately end up running my life and keeping me from experiencing things that I not only could do, but I yearned to do. The left side of my dads mouth smirked all the way to his ear, as he gently said, “Ness. Just jump in the damn pool.”

Big breath, eyes closed, hands clenched, full body. I jumped in that damn pool, forever reconstructing my chemistry, and never again afraid of launching myself into the murky waters of the unknown.