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Jump By Becky Beach The last piece of advice I heard as I stood at the edge of the AJ Hackett Bungy Tower fifty meters high above the tropical rainforest of Cairns, Australia, was "Keep your eyes straight ahead and jump toward the horizon." The first was from a fellow traveler, who when I had expressed my ambivalence between excited anticipation and paralyzing fear, told me that when I was on the platform and good to go, the crew would count me down from five, "but jump before you hear them get to 'one' or you're likely to freeze and lose your nerve." Five… Extreme sports were never really my thing. Not to say that I wasn't open to adventure-I had ridden camels around the pyramids of Egypt, climbed Mount Sinai, trekked through the jungles of northern Thailand, motorcycled across the rocky terrain of Turkey, and by the age of twenty done more traveling than many people do in a lifetime-but to me, a girl from small-town Ontario who was afraid of heights and chickened out of riding the kiddie coaster at Canada's Wonderland when I reached the front of the line, bungy jumping felt like a distinctly more life-threatening and death-defying feat. That kind of adrenaline-seeking, dare-deviling wasn't in my nature--or so I thought. Maybe it's Australia's remoteness from the rest of the world that inspires the urge to reach beyond what is known and venture into the mystery and rush of experiencing life to the fullest. Whatever it was, it seemed to be contagious, because after working, living and traveling in the Land Down Under I began to feel driven to do things that I never before would've thought possible. Things like breaking up with the guy with whom I had thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with. After fighting all the way through Southeast Asia, it became clear to me that we were bound more by obsessive passion and possessive jealousy than we were by love. Still, it was hard to let go, and when we realized that we'd be better off going our separate ways, he left Australia and I was left alone. Four… Part of me felt so sad and insecure that I almost bought a ticket for the next plane home, but the part of me that had been stifled by being one half of a couple was excited to discover who I was and could be as a whole of just me. I decided to embark on a solo adventure from Melbourne up the east coast to Queensland and bought a bus pass before fear made me change my mind. Leaving the flat was easier than I thought. Fueled by the lack of obligation to the wants, needs and expectations of another and the possibilities before me, I slowly began to feel liberated and excited to see whether or not I would actually be able to go through with my plan to jump or whether it would forever remain an unrealized dream. I came to discover that one of the many wonders of traveling is that you never can be quite sure how the journey will unfold. What I learned about traveling alone in Australia is that you're never really alone-along the way you meet people who have been where you're going or are going where you've been. There is always someone who is sharing the same path as you, even if their journey happens to be taking them in the opposite direction. In the weeks that followed, I enjoyed two-for-one night at 'Cocktails & Dreams' in Surfer's Paradise, submerged myself to the spectacular underwater world of the Great Barrier Reef, sailed for days around the Whitsunday Islands on an aging eighty-foot schooner called "The Golden Plover', and spent a lot of time on a lot of beaches, basking in the rays of the glorious Australian sun. The best part of all of this was the people I met along the way. People who shared the passion to experience themselves and the world around them, and whose encouragement and inspiration helped me in my quest to make a giant leap of faith. As my year in Australia was coming to an end, for one last time I boarded the bus to Cairns with the intention of hurling myself off a tiny plank from a great height with nothing between me and death but a giant elastic cord tied to my ankles. I must have taken a leave of my senses because the next thing I remember is being at the top of the bungy tower, where it became frighteningly clear that it had all become way too real way too fast, and there are only two ways for me to get down--I could turn around and walk back down the stairs or I could face my fears and jump. Three… I jump. Keeping my eyes straight ahead I leap, arms outstretched toward the horizon like it was a trapeze from which I hope to swing against the sky. For a moment in time I am flying, suspended weightless in mid-air and nothing else matters-until gravity kicks in with a force so absolute there was no negotiating with it. A scream tries to escape my mouth but the air is ripped from my lungs and all that comes out is what sounds like the 'uh' part of 'uh oh' and I begin to freefall toward the pond of shallow water below. In what felt like both an eternity and an instant I am stricken by shock as it becomes clear that I am headed toward my death and there is nobody who can save me. Then I feel it: tension. The sweet strain of the cord telling me I had fallen as far as I could fall and the only place to go from there was up. A giant surge of ecstatic relief and I am laughing, bouncing, deliriously happy and hollering like a maniac, feeling more alive than ever. I was assisted safely to shore, where I sat and mesmerized as one after another, other travelers climbed to the tower to take their own leaps, until I could sit no longer and did the only thing you can do once you realize you can push through fear to accomplish a feat that you never before knew you were capable of--I climbed back up did it again. |
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