Two years ago, I spent an amazing summer on a service trip in a village called Navakawau—translated to “the end of the road”—on the islands of Fiji. This was the summer I thought I grew up. Little did I know, I wouldn’t truly grow up until a year later.
The most memorable moment in Navakawau was a day that we went to a rock face with a hidden “locals-only” waterfall. I remember climbing the side of the slippery rock face, placing my feet on the edge of the jutting cliff, turning around, and fearlessly flipping off backwards.
One year later, however, I found myself in the same situation—just in a different setting. I was in a village called Bonanza Norte in Costa Rica where there is a river and jumping spot where the local kids like to retreat after a day of school or work. To get to the river, you walk down a gravel road, through a break in the rainforest where you come to a cliff. On my first trip there, I set my mind on recreating the back flip I had done in Fiji.
As I walked up to the edge, I looked at the overhang of the cliff, which sat out much farther and safer than the cliff in Navakawau. I turned around and bent my knees to jump, but then I paused. The thoughts that flooded my mind were normal and sane thoughts for anyone about to hurl themselves backwards off a cliff in a foreign country, but never thoughts that had crossed my mind before: What if I slip? What if I land wrong? What if I die? So, what changed in one year that made me think? The answer is simple: I grew up.
The lesson I learned over the course of that year—from my time in Fiji to my time in Costa Rica—was the respect for human life, others’ and even more so, my own. It was a lesson that was hurled at me by life itself over the course of two weeks, one that will stick with me forever. Within the span of eight days, I was hit with the news that two of my close friends had passed away. These two deaths hit me like a nine-ton train and de- railed my perspective on life, death and everything in between. In such a short time, I was hit with an enormous amount of pain. I barely knew how to cope with my feelings and manage my commitments. I organized a candlelight vigil. I made cupcakes for my friends’ families. But I felt disconnected from life.
About two months after my friends’ deaths, while standing on the edge of that cliff in Costa Rica, I had my moment of growing up. I realized that I was living in this bubble of fear, an emotion that I have not been very familiar with until now. I was afraid of the pain that living entailed, I was obsessed with life’s “what ifs.” So standing on the cliff, I asked myself, “What if?” But then in that same moment, I decided to overcome my newfound fear and to find my balance between life’s “what ifs,” and life’s “what if nots.” I decided to jump.
Since that jump, I’ve decided to respect life: to live, and to live not just with my heart, but also with my mind. So in approaching any future cliffs, I’m not saying I wouldn’t jump (because life is all about jumping), but I have learned to look before I leap. To live wisely. To live embracing my risk-taking, cliff-jumping, adrenaline-motivated, try-anything personality, but to live knowing life is temporary, that it can be taken away at any time and that it’s something that should be appreciated every day.
– By Jessica Kolomichuk