Come Sail Away  

Vacation is more than a time to just get away from it all. It's really a chance to get it all together. From time with G, DH, my parents, and my best friend, to just some much-needed time with myself, our trip to the Low Country beaches was a time to relax and recuperate from the stresses of every day life back at home.

So it may come as a shock to know that in the midst of all this rejuvenation I did something to intentionally scare the crap out of myself.

It's been an open secret among many of my friends (but I guess it's totally in the open now!) that DH & I have been going to couples counseling over the past few months. Between G's birth and a relatively massive shake-up at DH's job, we've been a high-stress household over the past year. When we learned that the counseling sessions were a free "perk" of DH's work, we decided to take advantage of the service and spend some time talking to an impartial third-party about how we can make our marriage stronger. It's been a great experience, one I will probably blog more about when we finish our sessions in a few weeks.

The reason I'm telling you all this now is because of something our counselor said to us when we first started seeing her. It probably comes as no surprise to those who know me best that I am a type-A personality. Ok, if personality types were like batteries, I'd be an AAA. A as in anal. A as in an absolute control freak. A as in aggravatingly, annoyingly, absurdly pigheaded, stubborn, and strong-willed. Sometimes, all that A-ness works in my favor. Sometimes it bites me in the butt. Often, it leaves me unwilling to compromise on just about anything-- my work, my house, my family, my security. Anyway, our counselor adeptly picked up on my in-control personality, and urged me to do something-- anything-- to break away from it, if even for a few moments. She told me that I needed to feel that momentary sense of fear-- that inability to control a situation-- in order to truly let go.

With that in mind, I conceived a plan to let go of all my inhibitions: parasailing. For some, like my daughter's godfather, this would simply be considered a weekend outing. But for me, it was combining a handful of my biggest fears-- the ocean (too vast), boats (too undependable), sharks (too much time on the Discovery Channel), heights (too unsecure). It would truly be a situation in which every single detail would be out of my control. And I was scared senseless.

The night before our trip (yes, our; my one safety net in this situation was to bring DH with me), I rolled over in bed and told him I couldn't-- wouldn't-- do it. I couldn't fall asleep, for fear of the nightmares that would plague me. Would the rope snap, plunging me 100 feet to certain death or blowing me all the way to Europe? Would our boat run out of gas, leaving us stranded in the middle of the vast abyss? Would sharks leap out of the water to bite my legs when the parachute inevitably dipped us into the surf? I was certain something-- everything-- horrible would happen.

It took all the courage I had just to get in the car so DH could drive us to the dock. Two capsules of dramamine later, I had managed to walk to the water's edge, where our "captain" and crew were waiting for us. On board, I quickly realized what a terrible mistake I'd made. At 27, I was the youngest person on the vessel. Our captain and his "mate" were only 25. The seven other parasailers were all teenagers. I'd put my life in their hands? What had I done?

But the crew of this boat knew what they were doing. The "mate" made jokes, interspersed with facts about the safety of parasailing (which, being the good journalist I am, I have since checked out... he wasn't lying). The captain, seeing the obvious trepidation in my eyes, avoided the heaviest surf and instead stayed in open, smooth waters. But even so, when it was finally our turn, I clung desperately onto the rail for dear life-- much to DH's embarassment and our teenage company's hilarity-- begging the mate to unhook me. But it was no use. In a matter of seconds, I was dangling dozens of feet above the water. And that's when something unexpected happened.

I calmed down. High above the noisy motor of our little boat, all I could hear was the breeze in my ears. I focused not on the water below me, but on the sky above me. I did my best to ignore the butterflies in my stomach, and instead enjoyed the feeling of soaring through the air. That's not to say the little, type-A voice inside of me wasn't throwing a fit. All those terrifying thoughts continued to circle through my head, telling my sensible self I was cheating death. But somehow, I managed to drown out those negative thoughts. I was actually a bit (just a bit) disappointed when the mate and captain began to reel us back in to the boat.

On the way back to the dock, I didn't talk much. I was too deep in thought, thinking about what I'd just done. It was the challenge of a lifetime for me. And while I definitely didn't get over my fears-- I doubt I'd even go parasailing again-- I did confront them head on. I learned that I can leave my comfort zone and try something new. I might not always love it, or even like it. But knowing that I am bigger than my fears is a victory in itself.