Letting go
Comparatively speaking, I am an adventurous person. I am someone who likes to take advantage of an opportunity and seize the moment without letting it pass on by if I can. Besides golf and archery intriguing me, there was the death-defying trapeze that was beckoning me to experience at Opio en Provence.
Sure, I was familiar with the trend for non-circus folk itching to make the journey up a ladder and swing down above a net from watching that episode of Sex and the City where Carrie Bradshaw explores the singles trend of “trapezing”. In fact, the TriBeCa neighborhood of Manhattan is home to that very trapeze and net. Anyway, one of my resolutions of the last year has been to challenge myself with the things I hold back on in life. Earlier this year I confronted my paralyzing fear of public speaking and spoke about social media to a crowd of 100 travel journalists and travel media types. I agonized over the process but ultimately survived without a hospital bill. When I saw the trapeze option at Opio en Provence, I decided I was going to confront that fear of letting go just like Carrie ultimately did. I already was interested in trying the flying trapeze anyway, but I also knew that it was likely that when I got up there, that I might feel otherwise. I tend to be a bit of an all-talk peer pressurer. Once up there, chances were high I was going to be a disappointing chicken. But I decided to try anyway, despite knowing this. After all, I could always come back down if it didn’t feel A-OK I figured. (I was wrong.)
A colleague went first. Initially I had the attitude that if this woman (who was a bit more than a decade older than me and a mom) could do it, then I could do it. I watched her shoot up to the top with her harness strapped around her, listen to the directions, and then take off. The woman did it without hesitation. Suddenly, I didn't know. Maybe this wasn’t for me. I decided to let the teenage girls from London and an Australian mom go ahead of me. I watched them race up and launch off one at a time doing tricks after the instructor verbalized quick explanations. (Only outside of the U.S. would you not need a 45-minute requisite training session.) Oh, this definitely wasn't for me.
I turned to my colleague: “You're the crazy type that always does this sort of thing, right? This wasn't out of nowhere for you to do?” I asked. She laughed and admitted: “Yeah, kind of.” Not good for my case. I was out of my league. The amateur trapeze artists and the instructors started encouraging me to go up. It was my turn. I didn’t quite want to though. But I knew I should do it. I was there. I should do it. I slowly made the climb up, my trepidation creeping along with me. I already really didn't like this, but I kept going. At the top I stood next to a topless safety instructor who told me exactly what to do. He was cute, spoke little English, but despite his attempts was not terribly comforting. Should I really jump and swing from that high up from a guy who couldn’t understand exactly what I was saying but just nodded, laughed and said, “do this?” I somehow managed to put my right hand on the bar. Nope, that didn't feel right. I wasn't going to do it. “Now put your left hand on the bar!” shouted the charming ginger haired Italian instructor. (His English was perfect and his humor while witty didn't seem to have me LOLing from whatever hundred feet up I was).
“I don't think so,” I managed to croak. “I don't want to do it.”
“Grab the bar with your left hand,” Ginger Italian said. He was still playful but he was also firm. “You can do it,” he encouraged.
“No. I don't want to. Can I quit this?” I asked. I quickly learned the answer was no.
We went back and forth for about ten minutes with me dramatically insisting I couldn't let go with my left hand. Several times I even let go of the trapeze bar with my right hand to emphasize my no answer. (That's a dangerous no-no.) Eventually, the topless Ginger Italian joined me on the plank with Topless No English Guy. (I should say he did speak English. He just didn't have the vocabulary to respond and understand my fearful questions.)
Finally, after a huge production, Ginger Italian convinced my left hand off the pole and onto the trapeze. It looked like I was going to have to do it now — and I did. I let go of that paralyzing fear and swung down. And — it wasn't bad at all. I swung down and up, and back, and swung up again. Sure, I missed the simple trick, but I made it down. After the cue, I was lowered and dropped into the net collapsing gently onto my back triumphant but wiped out by my ridiculous production. What a drama queen, yes, but I did it! I overcame it! And know what? I got back in line and did it a second time. And that time my fear production of not being able to let go with my left hand only last two minutes!
0 Comments