Jump! That’s what it felt like they were asking me to do. Jump — 120 feet off Gibraltar Rock! I was north of Santa Barbara in a rock climbing class. I’d already summoned what courage I had to climb up the 120-foot of rock wall. And now it was time to rappel down off the thing!
I kept going over to the edge looking down the massive boulder outcropping gasping, “No way! I can’t do that!” But I wasn’t about to give up. I was determined. It seemed as though I was up there for hours. Everyone else in the class had already gone. There actually was an easy way to just walk back down. But I was determined to get my courage up to do this. I wanted—no, I needed—to do this. For me. To show myself I wasn’t just a big chicken. Finally, I put on the harness and, with everyone’s support and encouragement, I finally did it. I was doing pretty good until the rock face suddenly receded and I no longer had my feet against the rock. I started to yell and about that time someone leaned over from the top, “Just keep going. It’ll be there.” I started letting out the rope and finally got to the bottom. I was ecstatic! I did it!
Hey! Let’s do it again!