Over 30 years ago I participated in a team building and personal development experience with my work group that took place near the Pecos River in New Mexico. This was basically a “ropes” course that included outdoor exercises as well as classroom activities and personal reflection.
The most daunting and scary exercise for most of us was the Zip Line. Picture a cable stretching across two cliffs over rocks on each side and a river in the middle. Hundreds of feet above ground. The idea was that we would leap off one cliff and be carried over the rocks and the river to the other side.
On an intellectual level, we “knew” that we were safe. After all, it would be bad business to have customers hurt or worse while attending the course. And the usual precautions were taken: we wore a helmet and would be strapped in securely. Still, for most of us, there was some hesitation. When was the last time the line was inspected? It didn’t help when there was a slight malfunction for one person in our group who for whatever reason didn’t get to the other side and had to be manually pulled across.
We lined up in a single file to make the ascent to the top of the cliff. One by one we made our way slowly to the top. After one person would make the jump we would each take a couple steps upward. Was there a way out? Maybe they would say we were done for the day before we reached the precipice. The top of the cliff had room for only a few people: the current jumper, the one on deck and the facilitator. As we are making our way to the top we can hear the facilitator in muffled sounds, not making out what he is saying, but assuming/hoping that he is giving important life saving instructions. Wait — is this something we need to be skilled for? How did I get myself into this?
I am now four away, almost to the top of the cliff. I can feel my heart beating as I try to breathe calm into by body and mind. It’s not working. I just want to get this over with. Three away. Two away. Wow, we are really high up. It looks much higher from this vantage point. My turn. The facilitator — is he trained for this? — straps me in and I scoot myself to the edge ready to just jump and get this over with.
However, the facilitator stops me. Where I wanted to bypass my emotions and rush through what I was feeling, he wanted me to slow down. He said, “Before you jump, I want you to take all this in, what the fear feels like, and where you find the courage to step into this.” He realized that to gain the most from this experience, it would be important to feel what it is like to be scared and at the same time be able to take the next step.
And I did. The first movement was 30 feet straight down and was sheer terror. Then, miraculously, it seemed, the zip line “caught” and then feeling like I had been rescued it was pure exhilaration as I safely made my way across the river to the other side. I tried to take it all in, the beauty of the mountains and the river, and of course that I was alive.
I still remember that feeling at the top of the cliff before I jumped, and think about it sometimes when there is some fear about the next step. And rather than pretend it doesn’t exist (as I tried to initially), sit with it and then go forward.
I am glad that I did the zip line. Once. I don’t ever need to do it again, however.
Craig Nielsen 