Don't Leap Before They Look

An Essay by Stephen Geez
www.StephenGeez.com
Art by Dizzy

Anybody who achieves his every goal probably isn’t aiming very high, yet the higher we aim, the more people might notice if we happen to fail.

My friend Bill once found himself aiming rather high even as he gazed straight down.  He stood teetering at the edge, there atop the world, high above the waters at the westernmost tip of Jamaica.

Still young and relatively unobligated, Bill and I rented a vacation condo on the beach at Negril back in the days before untrampled sands and dense jungle yielded to a clutter of hotels and all-inclusive resorts.  We knew we’d found paradise when our dreadlocked host greeted us by broom-shooing giant crabs from the lobby, a poignant welcome to kick off a week of jerk grilling, mango chilling, lobster boiling, and Red Stripe swilling.

Our first evening found us lounging at the shoreline, overrun by marauding crustaceans, admiring that spectacular light show known thereabouts as “sunset.” A noisesome boatload steamed by, several dozen revelers trekking toward a private islet for the nightly clothing-optional party, bonfire, and barbecue.  A couple of the lovelier ladies on deck smiled our way and waved before disappearing into a blinding parfait of shimmering cloud-layered light.

Bill was a big fellow, his round white belly in need of some Jamaican tan, but he never shied from physically challenging adventures.  Chattering enthusiastically about our plans to climb waterfalls, raft mountain streams, and snorkel coral gardens, he suggested we also explore the point’s picturesque limestone cliffs, then swim the eddies, washouts, and surf-carved caves below.

Imagine our excitement the next afternoon when we discovered an exquisite inlet with deep crystal-clear water pooling below a towering overhang, the perfect high-board for brave divers still young and relatively unobligated.  We stashed our gear and methodically climbed the precipice, then immediately noted that simple truism known to all similarly situated: It always seems way higher looking down from the top than it does looking up from below.

Pretending to linger for enjoying the view, we reminded ourselves that we’d already confirmed sufficient water depth for any manner of plummet.  Still, we agreed that our intentions all along had been merely to jump, the notion of swan-diving best left to trained professionals.  He maintains that we also agreed I would go first, but I’d have to read back the minutes to see exactly who made that motion and how it managed to garner majority votes with a quorum of only two.

Now, I’ve jumped out of a few airplanes in my time, and once even found myself bungee-jumping from a hot-air balloon in the foothills of the Rockies, so I know that when it’s time to go, the patience of others waiting a turn quickly wears thin.  If you’re going to leap, you might as well just go ahead and, you know, leap.

So I, um, lingered a bit longer to, you know, enjoy the view some more, then eventually grew impatient with myself and simply took the plunge.

You should have seen me.  Imagine a ballet in mid-air, somersaulting gracefully, soaring like a majestic eagle, shifting my body to form the letters spelling my name, acting out a brief scene from Hamlet, even swapping birdly stories with a few gulls who swooped in to join me.

Then picture what really happened, which looked more like a flailing crash-test dummy striving to stay right-side up lest the inevitable smack sting more places than even the Jamaican sun might shine.  Yes, it did prove exhilarating, but not in a do-it-again sort of way.

Then I looked up, squinting against the glare, and noticed Bill peering over the edge, the very picture of cautious appraisal framed by the reckless abandon of boundless blue sky.  Problem was, five and then ten and more minutes later, he was still up there, by which time I’d grown bored with treading water.  At one point we exchanged shouts about the notion of him climbing down, but the route up had proved fairly challenging, so any unceremonious retreat would likely engender even greater risk, certainly more than simply dropping into the welcoming embrace of our Jamaican water mistress.

So I took to offering him words of encouragement, the kind that come out more like “Hey, man, jump! Just do it! Jump!” Waving my arms and gesturing impatient hurry-downs punctuated my pitch with supporting visuals.

Then we heard that familiar chug-chug, and the daily islet boat-run appeared around the jut, loaded down with its customary eruption of raucous partiers swilling Red Stripes and capering about in anticipation of an ever more Bohemian night.  Somebody spotted Bill atop the cliff, so the boat made a fast turn and steamed right up alongside the small cove, then reversed engines for a full-stop and cut the power.  Our flirty ladies appeared topside as revelers swarmed this end of the deck, more climbing the bridge, the impromptu observation post listing precariously as the crowd started chanting “Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!”

While I would never advocate overriding one’s righteous sense of self-preservation simply to satisfy the goading of a spirited mob, I have to admit I wouldn’t want to be the one seen running scared by the very group we’d talked about joining at the bonfire some subsequent evening.  So there Bill stood like the proverbial jumper on a ledge, the crowd demanding its show.  He summoned the courage, steeled his resolve, and stepped into the breath-stealing void.

It really was a beautiful sight, and I’ll confess now after all these years that I was fibbing when I told him I could hear a small thunderclap from air rushing back to fill the swath cut by his trajectory.  He hit the water hard, sank like an anvil, kicked feverishly, and surfaced in triumph.

And the crowd went wild.

They screamed, whooped, hugged each other, toasted his success, poured beer over each other’s heads, then grabbed fast handholds as the boat powered up and chugged out of the cove.  They would continue celebrating on their topical islet, spinning and re-spinning the story, the legend of that white-bellied cliff-diver growing more impressive with every telling.

Life can be full of little victories, and those are usually tempered by the occasional failures, but it’s the bad habit of give-ups that can discourage us most, especially when we keep our goals secret so nobody finds out we never even dared try.

I do hope you all remember to encourage the people in your world.  Whether it’s for accomplishing something important or merely seeking a bit of fun, you might help make the difference, and you might just get a little bit of that back-patting back.

And try not to give up on your own wanna-do’s before you at least check the depth and climb to the summit for an honest look-see.

Tell the world, then steel yourself and give it a try.

So here’s to hoping the next time you take a leap of faith, you have your own raucous boatload of supporters gathering to cheer you on.

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