DAY ONE

And beginning again...again.

We were walking single file along a narrow path.

The path was well used, so it was easy to follow even though the forest was so dense that the sun struggled to shine through the trees. There were five or six of us—three of my high school best friends and the boys who had cajoled us into making the journey. Brave, fearless, bold … plucky, courageous, gallant. These are all qualities I would say I admire, if someone should ask me. And these were the qualities I was trying to emulate that day as we came closer and closer to our destination.

We were making our way to the famous Rooftop Quarry in Bloomington, Indiana. You might recognize it as the spot featured in the movie Breaking Away where the cool kids, the Cutters, the underdogs in the movie, went to hang out. Although the movie was released in 1979, we thought we had discovered it in 1985. In the summer of that year, we strode along the path feeling like masters of the universe. We were soon to be high school seniors and convinced that we were smarter and more ingenious than should be possible.

However, that feeling of confidence didn’t stop my heart from pounding. It was beating so hard it felt like it would explode through my chest. The boys had been taunting and teasing us as we walked. They were sure that we, mere girls, would not make the jump, and I was equally sure I would … and I did!

Legend says the limestone walls soar eighty feet above the water. Having never measured it, I don’t know if it’s true, but I remember that as I hit the water, my breath was completely knocked out of me when my knees smashed into my face. I came to the surface seeing stars and feeling completely disoriented. When I flipped over onto my back to catch my breath, I could barely see my friends at the top waving and clapping. It sure looked all of eighty feet.

The quarry was closed and filled in a few years ago. The news article said it was closed due to injury and liability concerns. And that comes as no surprise. I often marvel that I made it to age fifty before having a major injury. I’ve always been a bit of a daredevil and rarely concerned myself with what could happen. Over the years I’ve bungee jumped, ridden motorcycles, skied double black diamond runs, gone white water rafting, and flown a single engine airplane across the ocean from Florida to the Bahamas.

Back then we didn’t wear seatbelts, helmets, or any safety gear, all things I was adamant that my kids must use and wear. I miss that feeling, that feeling of being sure of myself, without fear of what might happen. Did having kids zap my confidence? I’m not sure. I know that seeing my kids get hurt, whether it was a broken heart or a broken bone, is gut wrenchingly worse than it is for myself.

A while back I posed the question, to myself as much as to you: “What do you want?” And I’ve followed up that question with motivational slogans like, “Don’t think, just do” and “Just start” and my smashup word of the year, expeditionvision.

We all instinctively know not to stop on the railroad tracks; we don’t need to have an internal dialogue with ourselves to weigh the pros and cons of an oncoming train. But when it comes to my purpose—what should I do now that the kids have left the nest—I not only have an internal-defeating dialogue with myself, I also solicit the opinion of others and refer to the experts, which has only increased my feelings of doubt and uncertainty.

Perhaps what I need to do is dust off my inner courage, listen to rather than question that inner voice, and follow my own advice.

Day One.