We have arrived.
And the snow renders our little holiday resort even more magical than usual. It is a purpose-built holidaymakers’ town with a great dome at its centre, housing a plaza and a great pool complex with slides and water features which mermaids would accord rave reviews. There is falconry and owlery, football and golf, cycling and loafing and dining out at the drop of a hat.
And all without cars. The idea is that one parks one’s car at the beginning of seven days and picks it up a week later when it’s time to go home. Environmentally friendly, and also peaceful: our cars put us under a kind of duress we cannot see. It is invisible to our hasty eyes. But each journey carries its burdens, even the smallest.
Paradise it may be, here. But it carries its challenges, and I would have traded much for a copy of a certain book to help me through.
‘Feel the Fear And Do It Anyway’ is a self-help book. I read it about twelve years ago. The ironic English person in me wanted to scoff at Jeffers’ blue sky outlook. But her premise is still as solid as the day she wrote it.
Susan Jeffers preaches a gospel of positive thinking, and assertive living. She acknowledges that every day, sometimes, we feel fears. And she says they can be a tool to help us develop.
I love to risk in many ways. I will walk into a room full of people I do not know and train or lead or entertain or perform. I am an oratorical bungee jumper.
But we all have our Achilles heel, don’t we?
When I was about seven, I was a careful child. In Physical Education lessons I couldn’t climb ropes, I hated those big boxy horses and would hover close to the mats as much as possible.
But one day, my teacher had the huge A-frames set out, and fixed the ladder to run from the apex of one to the other. Kids climbed up, they clambered across a ladder, they descended the other side.
Except that I climbed up obediently and then found I could not move.
My teacher, a Marist nun, stood there, underneath, staring up with an expression which was familiar to her face: as if she had just tasted vinegar.
Kids hurtled round proffering well-meaning advice, those backed up behind me urged haste, and those in front of me soon disappeared, completing their circuit. But I found it was higher than I ever imagined it would be, and I didn’t feel the risk of moving was worth the payoff of descent and completion.
So I stayed there. The blue-veiled wonder was not about to clamber up to get me, and to this day I do not remember how I got down.
I am not one who takes physical risks. I just don’t like them. Walk out in front of a room of 300 and talk off-the-cuff: certainly. Abseil: never.
These flaws have not left me in adulthood.
Phil and I went with one of his friends to a theme park, years ago, before kids. We all got onto these strange little exposed monorail-type cars for a ride, each to his own. These things could hurtle at breathtaking speeds. But the boys made the mistake of letting the lady go first.
Reader: I dawdled, I pootled, I took my own sweet time, trailing a nose-to-tail string of frustrated males for at least five minutes. I think, by the time I finished, that these red-blooded young men might have had wisps of scarlet smoke coming out of their ears. My reticence had ruined several rides.
So why would I spend my Christmas at place where the chief attractions are physical challenges: slides and water spouts and white water rapids?
Phil has been Manager In Charge Of Risk in our family since the beginning. I would pootle in the pool or with Felix at the baby slides; he would take Maddie to attempt hair-raising feats of watery daring. I never saw, and I certainly never had to do anything myself.
Until last year, when my daughter turned huge eyes in my direction, and implored me, just once, to take the white water rapids.
This is an alarming contrivance, consisting of insane slide after slide, interspersed with fierce water currents and culminating in a crash pool. To get to it, swimmers are lulled by the warm outdoor lagoon, a veritable hot azure bath, lit for theatre. For years I have sat in that blue pool, eyeing the upstart eruption of white water, and listening to the screeches of participants, with deep and unwavering suspicion. But when Maddie asked me, I had to do it, just once.
I felt the fear, and I did it anyway. I have a hazy memory of hollering at the top of my voice the whole way round, providing considerable entertainment for a group of young teenage daredevils who were timing each other to see who could get the fastest run.
And that was enough for me.
However in an inconceivably rash moment, I made a promise to my son.
Son, I said, if you learn to swim during this year: if you are competent enough to take the rapids; then I’ll try The Big Slide.
My daughter the prospective circuit judge archived this unwise little detail. And today, just when I thought I had got away with it, she brought it out in front of the jury marked exhibit A: Mummy’s Big Promise.
Erk.
The Big Slide is even more terrifying than the rapids. It plummets at the same gradient as one of those mad little Cornish roads, practically straight down, culminating in a bracing plunge in the plunge pool.
After braving the rapids four times for the sake of my children, I had felt plenty of fear, and I had done it anyway. But I drew the line at The Big Slide. I watched everyone else, but steadfastly refused to let go and plummet.
But I did think about it.
In truth I need Susan Jeffers in person next to me for this one. I am so arrogant about my risk taking in so many aspects of my life: but doing The Big Slide anyway has me on the direst of tenterhooks.
And so tonight, Reader, I leave you in an unaccustomed state of flux.
I might. And then again, I might not.
Kate Shrewsday 
Oh dear, I do feel for you. Did you see the Mister Bean episode where he freezes on the diving board? Been there, done it, embarrassed my child.
Best of luck, Kate, either way things will be fraught.
So, each in our own way , we have a dose of frot at the festive season. Did it this morning just to get it over with and relax. I had to go and have a stiff drink afterwards..
Good luck. I too suffer those physical fears. As you say 300 people, talk off the cuff, sure. Big slide, ooohhh eeerrr uuummm, maybe not
Scarey, isn’t it? I was at the top of the slide this morning quavering, much to the amusement of the waiting three year olds. Ho, hum, Sidey 🙂
You resurrected fears. At the carnival the only “ride” I would think of trying is a bench by the food stand. I go into the two foot deep toddler swimming pool only, under the pretense that I adore the presence of dozens of screaming 2-3 year olds. I must take a sea-sickness pill to go into the bathtub.
The closest I would get to white water rapids is the soap foam in the washing machine. Once I felt particularly daring and rode the elevator to the 9th floor in a 60 story building.
Well I hope you do and I hope you don’t, Kate – strength to you either way! Although I’m sure you will …
Have a wonderful holiday, Kate – blessings to you all.
Sunshine xx
Thanks Sunshine:-) I did it, and now it’s plain sailing all the way to Christmas.
Famous last words. Hope you have a lovely holiday too…snow still here- are you blasé yet?
For a moment I thought I was reading my own post, Susan Jeffers and all. Of course, I write of the children’s book illustrator, you of an author and motivational inspiration, but, that slide, the rapids, the fear. High school gymnastics still bring night sweats and bad dreams. I fell off of the balance beam, trampoline, and pommel horse and couldn’t make it from the first traveling ring to the next – with someone pushing me. Forgetting to turn as I dismounted the uneven bars damaged my armpits for life – I sweat at a slant!
Be brave, fear not – and know you have friends who understand.
Thanks for the post, Kate. have a wonderful time.
Thanks Penny: it seems many of us writers have a similar appraoach to matters physical! Strangely I begin to find that now they are familiar, the rapids are becoming quite fun, but the slide terrified me and I do not feel any the better for doing it anyway. Have a wonderful holiday season there on the Cutoff.
Feel the fear and do it anyway.
I like it. Maybe that should be my new motto. You are definitely not alone!
Good on you, Kate! We grow when we step outside our comfort zone . . . and get our toes wet.
{{Whee!!!!}}
For more quotes on conquering FEAR:
http://nrhatch.wordpress.com/2010/11/19/are-you-the-hero-of-your-life/
FEAR – there’d be not much courage if there were not much fear! You set yourself up perfectly, Kate, for moving into and through this one…brilliant Mum you are…and I have a feeling you’ll rise to the occasion and have an amazing post to share about guts.
yeeeeeeeeehaw – I think that’s the yell of a cowgirl riding a bucking mustang!
I shall learn the yell by heart, Deborah, thank you – I think it may come in useful 🙂
Cyclo can’t stand heights. I don’t mind them. When Techie wanted to go on the ‘Go Ape’ adventure in the Lakes I went with him, but Scout was too small. Two years lalter Scout was big enough and Cyclo said he would go on it with him,
Poor man. He came to ground via a long ‘flying fox’ at one point (between stations) and was shaking, completely pale and largely unable to speak. I implored him to stop, to come off and I would take his place, but he was determined and carried on. He did it. We went to the pub afterwards – and I drove home.
Well done you. Did you enjoy it at all?
A timid person is frightened before a danger, a coward during the time, and a courageous person afterward.
Jean Paul Richter (1763 – 1825)
Now Cyclo’s feat: that’s what I call courage. That’s quite a long-term piece of daring, I’d say – we have Go Ape at our forest, and I watch them up there with something approaching bafflement. Huge, and belated, Respect to your other half 🙂
And no, Pseu, I did not enjoy it at all.
But you did it. So put a feather in your cap!
Well, I hope you do, Kate, but I’ll love you just the same if you don’t. 🙂 I remember that book from several years ago, when my best friend was reading it and praising it to the skies. “So does that mean you will finally try your hand at bungee jumping?” I asked. (There’s a popular bungee jump location not far from where she lives.) No, apparently not… but she did stop talking up the book, and she seldom mentions bungee jumping to me anymore either.
LOL I love that, Ruth! Risks can have good outcomes, and risks can have bad outcomes, and not every risk has a fairy tale ending. Bungee jumping would bring that home to one fairly swiftly, I imagine…
Auntie Kate, I feel your pain and I admire you for doing it! I too had a slide moment, on a cruise ship in the Caribbean. Jake just wouldn’t stop going on about it, so I finally plucked up the courage to go down the slide which took in about four decks of cruise liner. All the little kids seemed to go swirling down at a very sensible speed, waving to their families and taking in the beautiful views. Can’t be that bad, I thought to myself, so decided to have a go. Dad was ready with his camera at the bottom to capture my glorious moment. Well, despite having an A-level in physics, I had neglected to take on board the fact that all the little kids were about a quarter of my body mass, and therefore my speed down the slide was considerably faster! I must have swallowed about two gallons of pool water en route, and what I didn’t drink was turned into a tsunami of epic proportion which travelled ahead of me. Dad still enjoys sharing the photos with anyone who needs a laugh……never again will I venture onto one of those things, and the worst thing was, after all the nagging, Jake didn’t go on it!
Have a fabulous time, and lots of love to you all this Christmas xx
And to all of you! Re-spect to you, Nix…and you have made me feel infinitely better, what a fabulously told story, and how familiar it sounds. Hope your Christmas includes moments of comfort and joy 🙂
Kate, thank you for this wonderful post! It’s comforting to know that someone out there shares my dread of physical risks — I was the kid in the PE class who could not jump the pommel horse or pull off a somersault. Up to this day I have not gotten on a roller-coaster; nor could I do a full handstand in my Yoga class for fear of crushing my spine and being paralyzed from the neck down… Why we’re born this way is anyone’s guess!
We’re careful, Jackie, that’s what it is, and we must preserve ourselves for our Art!!! Glad it struck a chord, and relieved to have put this out there and found a fellow soul who feels exactly the same. Lovely to hear from you, Jackie, and have a wonderful festive break.
Hi Kate. Thanks for the sharing. I, having seen you moments of fear sometimes, know how you feel.
The thing is that “feel the fear and do it anyway” is one of those sayings which trip nicely off the tongue – just like that promise to go on the big slide.
But if it were said fully, what that saying should include is that fear also informs of danger, and engenders a degree of prudence. I once HAD to climb the mast of a warship quite a few times to do some soldering. That mast was a long way up, and some of the steps up there were on the skew. But there was no doubt that having to do that climb eventually anaethsetised me against fear. And once a little ferry boat passed close to the ship, and EVERY face was upturned, watching me. I have to tell you that felt so good!
We love you even in fear, Kate.
Love from Dad (mum included)
Thanks, Dad and Mum: brilliant comment and amazing story which I have never heard before! I knew there was a reason I blogged…you are absolutely right about fear, too…