Where did my Brave go?
Aug 08
When we were kids, Beth and I used to reach up and place our palms on top of the tan brick wall in our backyard. With a jump and push of a toe against the wall we’d twist around and be seated on top of the wall, feet dangling into our backyard, before you could say, “boo.” The next thing you know, and I have no recollection of how we pulled this off, we’d be standing on the wall, walking back and forth, arms hanging at our sides. The back of the yard was a large hill, and we would easily climb the steps and cross the back of the wall as well, returning to run back and forth, do cartwheels and balance in the splits. When we were finished with our stunts, stunts which never gave Mom a second look it should be noted, we’d sit back down and then jump to the ground.
I’ve lost that lack of fear, the balance, the ability to even turn around in the shower without holding onto the wall for fear I’ll slip and fall, crashing into a knob and cutting open my forehead. When I’m running, I will run around a sidewalk covered with water, sand or dried plants/leaves, terrified I’ll slip in it, breaking multiple bones and bruising my ego (again).
On Friday, Beth, our friend Shana and I brought our kids to the beach. The Pacific Coast Highway has miles and miles of free beach with pay beaches that have parking lots. We found the perfect spot with a mile of vacant sand, emptied the Suburban and everyone started heading down the man-made path with steps that lead to the sand. Everyone but me. I got to the first step that seemed several feet down from the top and I couldn’t do it. I was terrified. Everyone tried to calm me down and convince me it was really nothing, but I felt dizzy and unstable. Even sitting down to scootch down the path made me nervous. It didn’t help that I grabbed a big rock next to me for leverage and it was shale, disintegrating in my hand. After about 15 minutes I finally made it to the sand, safe and sound but humiliated, frustrated and still shaky. I could do this a year ago!
Uh-Oh
Three hours later when it started to rain we all packed up as quick as we could and headed back up to the highway. Figuring going up would be easier than coming down I marched right up to those stairs and froze. Again. How did I know that first rock wasn’t shale, ready to disintegrate with my first step? How did I know my right leg could lift my entire body up to the next step? I certainly couldn’t grab onto anything, and I knew that turning around, sitting on my butt and scootching up backwards was totally unacceptable. I got myself up onto the very first rock; the big rocks that line the sand. With Noah standing behind me convincing me everything was fine, I could do this, I started to panic. Out of the blue came a hand. It was Wyatt, my 11-year-old 5’4″ (4 inches taller than 13-year-old Noah) nephew. I put my hand in his and he pulled me up. Three steps. My nephew helped me through my fear and up a scary hill. It’s one of those things I don’t think I’ll ever forget.
I sent Hot Joe a text yesterday telling him I was taking the dogs out. He responded, “Be safe. Avoid water, wind and sand.”
Where did my brave go?
Oh Kim, this breaks my heart a little bit. I know how you feel, believe me. I’ve been avoiding situations that are unknown or scare me for years. I feel safest sitting by my computer…. Half the time I really worry about my kids though, if they can handle it, but just like your nephew they usually end up “saving” me…
I’ve always been a chicken. My relationship with ‘brave’ has been distant if not non-existent. I worry I pass my lack of bravery to my kids, but I am reassured when I watch them play. They have no fear. They trust and take risks. Risk taking is good, when you know hands are extended and ready to help you along, if you need it. When hands aren’t extended, you should walk away. *cough* hint
I am sorry. I am sure you got this from me only I had to wait to find Rick to help me. I didn’t have a Wyatt and a Noah; just TWO DAUGHTERS WHO MADE FUN OF ME!!!
Oh, man. I could have written this post. When I was younger I had confidence that my body could do the stuff it was supposed to and get me where I needed go. Run. Jump. Climb. Whatever. Me and my body could handle it. We were a team.
Now? Not so much. I feel so disconnected from it and distrustful of its abilities. I had this moment going down a rickety flight of stairs where I didn’t know if I could actually carry my load of beach toys and kid paraphenalia all the way down. It was terrifying.
The next day I started working out and running again. Because, man, there is *no way* I can handle that kind of experience on a regular basis. My mind and body need to start playing for the same team again STAT.
So it’s called “brave” when it’s gone is it? I thought it was something like “post surgery,” “trauma”….”life”. I like your term better and if it means anything to you, I go down every staircase (except the escalators in Grand Central) on my butt.
Go Wyatt – you are my hero!!!