Editors Note: This was first written in 2009, and so may be considered cheating in using it here, but the lessons learned are the same. If you substitute the names of many of you here for COPE – I think you will know what I am saying. This is a glimpse into my brain in reference to fear, commitment, consistency and moving forward. I believe everything written here still holds true today and was a part of the path to purchasing the farm. I believe conquering this was the start of conquering many things. Most of all, I believe I taught myself how strong I could be and what I was capable of not only for my family and friends, but for me. So now, ladies and gentlemen – my blog…

 

In the course of my lifetime, I’ve been extraordinarily fortunate to have been blessed with myriads of amazing people. They drop into my life when I seem to need them most, sense my need for them, give and move on – or don’t depending on the situation. All whom I’ve been touched by define who I become. Most recently, I had the good fortune to spend two weekends with a small group of people whom I’d never met before and whom I may never see again, but who helped me to cross a boundary I’d carefully crafted in the sand over the course of my years.

Coupled with this is a lifetime of experience, amazing friendships and my son who really is the reason I started down this path in the first place.

My son, Adam, the first of my four children and I share many traits. We are both oldest children, we both like control, we both started out life on the wrong foot with our mothers, and we both fear heights. It is the latter that led me to meet the aforementioned group of people.

Adam, along with my other children, is a Boy Scout. Me, well, I kinda got taken along for the ride. Our troop is a very adventurous outdoor troop. Adam’s godmother and my best friend is happier hanging from the top of tall towers and rocks than on the ground. We, Adam and I, are not. She; however, works hard to change that and has offered us many chances to rappel, belay, and play in high places. Some of which we’ve done.

Okay, so this is a lot of background for a little blog entry, but I wanted you to have the above information so you could understand why I found myself spending 6 days in the company of COPE (challenging outdoor personal experience) directors in training of whom I was one. I did it for Adam and I did it for me. It was high time to break the bounds of the past, conquer fear and move on with life – for both of us. I believe you should never ask someone to do something you wouldn’t do yourself, so with much help from my friend, I agreed to become a COPE director myself.

I agreed to the training knowing full well I’d missed the entry level qualifications (able to tie a knot without panic ) skimmed over the intermediate step (run a course by myself EVER) and the next step (working or spending a night in a resident camp). Not one to let things stand in my way, when I was asked if I was willing to be trained as a COPE director so I could help out when needed, I agreed.

I agreed with an understanding of what a course looks like – I’ve been on several as a spectator and casual helper -and an innate understanding that a true leap of faith would change my world. I also understood my deeply seated fear of heights.

I said yes never admitting or thinking that who I was really saying yes to and for was not Adam or my best friend or my husband or my dog, but myself.

“Yes,” I said, “I’m willing to attend and give all that I have.”

” Yes,” I said, “I’ll do what’s asked of me.”

” Yes,” I said, “I’ll listen, obey and do.”

And then reality set in. How does one follow through on a promise that involves facing each and every corner of one of her worst fears? The answer, it appears, is simple. You just do it.

So I did. I climbed to the top of the ladder, then I climbed the staples bringing myself close to 30 feet up. I walked around a pole and stood atop a log, and then I froze.

I froze and I feared and I wanted to cry and scream and faint and get the hell down. But I didn’t. I stood atop the log and I listened to the voices of those I’d come to trust, and I spoke to myself about all of the things that brought me to this place and I took a step, and then two, and I persevered.

BUT and this is a really important but, I succeeded because of the small group of people mentioned way back at the beginning of this long-winded saga who cared more about me and my success for as long as it took- and it took a long time! They waited with and for me to gather the courage, tentatively move forward, stop, start, get carabiner’s stuck, shake, ask to come down, etc until I was able to succeed.

They, in that one brief heartbeat of a lifetime took part in changing my life simply by being present.

This is what they are training to do. They’re training to take a few heartbeats out of a lifetime to help others be stronger. They’re choosing to give rather than receive and to help another soul on the path to better things.

As an aside, I should also mention that in societal terms I failed. I did not make it across all three high elements, and I ran out of energy and determination before conquering the zipline (something I really, really wanted to do), but none of that matters. What matters is that they, and I, for one brief moment stood closer together than apart. My goal became theirs and theirs mine. It’s a rare thing in today’s world to see such giving.

Where in society do they teach that if you show up, give it your all, and fail you win? The Boy Scouts of America teach that, and thousands of people a year go through the door to summer camp to give to the generation behind them.

They are heroes to the thousands they touch, but mostly they are heroes to me as it is in their giving that I will become stronger for having crossed a chasm of fear tied together by a common goal. I look forward to being a role model. I look forward to doing justice to this amazing group of people that call themselves COPE directors/instructors, and I pray that I can stand proud someday having helped another as they helped me.