Apparently, I Would

“If everyone else jumped off a bridge, would you?”

Moms Everywhere

“You and I are friends. You cry, I cry. You smile, I smile. You hurt, I hurt. You jump off a bridge, I’m gonna miss your emails.”

Unknown
Upper Falls, Old Man’s Cave
Hocking Hills State Park, 2021

“You know,” said my friend Sarah, “This decision would be a lot easier for you if you didn’t suffer from FOMO.”

“FOMO? What’s that? I asked, puzzled by this new term.

“The fear of missing out,” she replied

Lately, I find the idea of FOMO a stronger motivational force than at any other time in my life. As Senior Citizens, we are encouraged to prioritize our to-do list…a reminder to get busy checking things off while we’re still able.

As my senses and abilities slowly diminish, I recognize that I can no longer run my fastest or jump my highest. I know that there are choices I can no longer make, but I also know that I still want to experience the wonder, savor the sweetness, and enjoy the adventure of life. Perhaps, then, it was FOMO that prompted me…someone terrified of heights… to accept an invitation to join my sister, Penny, and granddaughter, Fiona, on a zipline tour in Hocking Hills of southern Ohio.


We bought our tickets months ago when snow still covered the ground. I figured it wouldn’t break my bank if I decided to chicken out at the last minute, but if I didn’t have a ticket to begin with, I wouldn’t have that option on zip-day. If I chose not to clip in and go, it would still be good, but if I were feeling brave, I’d be ready. In truth, even though I found the entire prospect frightening, I anticipated that eventually, I’d have a great time. So, I bought my ticket and tried to put the whole idea of actually stepping off the platform in the back of my mind.

“You’re not going to chicken out and even if you do…it’s all right.”

Sally Van Cise

Years ago, Kelly, my other daredevil sister, and I joined a group of women to go white water rafting down the Gauley River in West Virginia. One of the women in our raft was afraid of water, didn’t know how to swim, was terrified the entire time, and wouldn’t help paddle or assist with the raft. She had decided to join the expedition as a test of her faith which was fine, but she put everyone in the boat at risk and, at the first possible moment, was removed from the river by the rafting company.

I did not want to be that person…and yet…I knew there were similarities.

I began to gather more information about zipping and, more importantly, zipping for people afraid of heights. As the zipping date approached, I sought confidence in lessons from the past. I told myself to be present, take it one step at a time, and paraphrasing Rev. Bill…don’t leave the platform until you leave the platform…anticipating the fear would only multiply it. Breathe in. Breathe out.

My husband’s death left me suddenly without my partner, the other half of my act. Neither of us was especially brave or daring alone, but together we made a great team. He drove on the scary Rocky Mountain roads, and I led the way as a Russian man beckoned us into his home. I had no trouble understanding the Scottish brogue, and he could keep complicated directions in his head. I booked the flights, and he carried the heavy bags. We were a strong combination and had such fun together. Without my teammate, would I be like a Sea Star that can grow another appendage when one is missing and navigate the ocean flawlessly, or would I be like a two-legged three-legged stool that is fit for little else than kindling? Would I be relegated to adventures that didn’t include steep mountain roads or long, high bridges? Would I only be able to return to easily navigated routes or tours specially designed for Senior Citizens? So many questions begging for answers.

If you want to learn to swim, you have to get in the water. If I wanted new adventures, I’d have to be open to them, I’d have to say yes when the opportunity arose, and I’d have to be ready to face my fear if necessary.

We arrived a Hocking Hills Canopy Tours shortly after noon on a simply glorious day. Our guides, Todd and Kelsey, introduced themselves and our fellow Zippers. We were a group of nine; I was the oldest, least fit, and the most terrified. 

My strategy was to take one step at a time, be present, and not focus on what was to come. How do you eat a whale? One bite at a time.

The harness. The helmet. The gloves. The instruction. The demonstration. The practice.

Stepping up and clipping on to the trial zip was absolutely horrifying. We were only feet off the ground, but it was at that moment that zipping through the trees became more than a theoretical exercise. It was actually going to happen. I thought I might cry or pass out, but I put my left hand on the carriage, my dominant hand…the braking hand…on top, stepped off the platform, and did it. Not well…but I did it.

Thoughts of that rafting trip returned as we were being transported to the first zip. “This is Jump Rock,” said Captain Mike. “It’s not Go Up There and Decide Rock. Once you get out of the raft, there’s only one way back in. You’ve got to jump off the rock.” Once we were clipped onto the zipline, the only option was to zip.

“You’re going to love it. Just don’t be first and be careful not to twist around and come in backwards.”

Shalini Suryanarayana

As I was contemplating this adventure, Fiona, assured me that, “The only difficult step is the first one. After that, you’ll be having fun and won’t even think about it.” That was true for just about everyone in our little squad, but it never really happened that way for me. The first two zips were conditioning me to the idea of being up so high, but I quickly learned that height wasn’t my only concern. Somewhere in the middle of the third zip…Screaming Eagle…couldn’t one of them have been called Floating Feather on the Wind…I began to twist. We had been warned not to come in backward…don’t let yourself twist. As I was trying to adjust my trajectory, I was racing toward the next platform. Where’s the braking signal? I can’t see the signal. Then…slide my right hand onto the line. Push down. Don’t let my feet crash into the tree. Adrenaline rush for sure. Ya, know…I discovered Adrenaline isn’t all that great!

Rope Bridges…Glad I Did It…Don’t Want to Do it Again!
Photo: Hocking Hills Canopy Tours

Between several platforms, we also encountered swinging rope bridges. You’ve seen the movies. As soon as the protagonist steps foot on one of those bridges…it is doomed to break. Gingerly, I propelled myself slowly across the wooden planks with the aid of the ropes and cables. I felt embarrassed about my glacial speed, but once again, it was one step at a time…and…by the way…don’t look down.

Don’t Let the Smile Fool You
June 2021

My son is an amazing athlete who pushes himself to do all kinds of difficult hiking, biking, and climbing challenges. He perfectly describes my experience zipping as Type Two Fun. Type Two Fun occurs when what you’re doing is so hard that it is not enjoyable, pleasurable, or bringing you joy. TTF kicks in afterward when you look back, smile, and say…” Hey, I did that.”

Yes! That’s Actually Me
June 2021

I’m not a big fan of flying, but it’s really just the take-off and landing that I don’t like. Stepping off the platform and trying to avoid crashing into the tree at the next platform was never fun for me. Take-offs and landings. I never got over being utterly terrified, but soaring through the trees was, maybe not first-order fun, but pleasurable, pretty cool…and…I did it!

Isn’t life itself an incredible ride? I’m glad I had a ticket. Take-offs and landings round our lives…birth and death…connected by a long ride through the trees if we’re lucky. Along the way, we have coaches and guides like Todd, who made sure that I was safely secured, given words of encouragement, and then sent on my way, and Kelsey, who would catch me on the next platform, usher me away from danger, help me gain my footing, and give me space to steady my nerves before the next zip. Along with coaches and guides, we are accompanied on the journey by others who have fears and challenges of their own, who wish the best for us, who wait patiently while we summon our courage, and who are there to cheer us on when we meet the test. In the end, no matter our style or comfort level, we all walk the same path back to the jeep, strip off our gear, get a certificate, and have the very same bragging rights. We did it!

I did it!

And Now the Slide Back to Earth
June 2021

*The vast majority of people who decide to zip through the trees like the birds or move squirrel like from tree to tree can manage their fears and actually have great fun. My sister and my granddaughter, for example, did two more zip tours after this one. If you are considering such an adventure, I highly recommend Hocking Hills Canopy Tours near Hocking Hills State Park outside Logan, Ohio. They are truly a class act! Ask for Todd and Kelsey. Tell them a big chicken with a certificate and bragging rights sent you.

Finding Wisdom in the Rocks

Late last August, my sisters and I decided that if we were careful…lots of ventilation, masks, and social distancing…we could safely travel north together to an out-of-the-way beach on Lake Michigan that would be perfect for hunting Petoskey stones…the state stone of Michigan.

Once at the beach, the three of us trekked down the embankment toward the water carrying sunscreen, sunglasses, and containers for our finds.  It was a gorgeous Michigan summer day and although we brought our swimsuits with us we left them in the car.  We’d be fine in our shorts. 

As we moved along the beach our goal was to get as far away from any people as possible. 

We were seeking solitude and safety but most importantly we hoped to find a stretch of the lake where no one had yet picked over the rocks that had been churned up by the waves and left near the shore for us to find. 

Dry Petoskey Stones Hiding in Plain Sight
August 2020

We clamber over tree trunks that had fallen into the water, large stones that jutted out from the shore, and piles of assorted slippery rocks and pebbles that acted like ball bearings pulling us toward the drink in our quest for the perfect spot. Presently, we reached the place, that by consensus, we agreed looked like the best place to begin our exploration.  It didn’t take long for us to realize that we were going to get wet…very wet,  Wouldn’t it be nice if we had those suits?  Since Penny is the most in shape we agreed that she should make the trek in reverse and go get our bathing attire.  In the meantime, Kelly and I would scour the rock-strewn beach and shoreline for treasures.

I had, of course, seen Petoskey stones, but I’d never found one.  They aren’t impossible to find in central Michigan where I grew up…but…I don’t remember it ever happening. As kids, we found lots of fossils, but never the coveted Petoskey.

These distinctive stones are the fossilized exoskeleton of a coral that lived about 350 million years ago in the warm waters of what was then an ancient sea. At that time, geographically, Michigan was near the equator and covered with waters that were perfect for clams, cephalopods, corals, crinoids, trilobites, fish, and many other life forms.

The Pattern Pops When Wet
Photo credit: Pixabay

The living part of the coral was called a polyp.  The dark spot in the center of the hexagonally shaped chamber was the polyp’s mouth. The animal had tentacles like most modern corals, that grabbed plankton as it drifted by then fed this food into its mouth. Like most things, knowing what you’re looking for makes it easier to find.  Even so, Petoskey stones often remain hidden until their distinctive pattern is revealed by water.  That’s one reason so many people hunt for them along the shores of the Great Lakes.

When Penny returned we snaked off our shorts and t-shirts and in the seclusion of our bit of beach we wriggled into our garments of nylon and spandex.  In truth, for me at least, it was more like the gyrations of a geriatric contortionist, but eventually, I had all my bits covered and was ready for the water.  Lake Michigan is like a smaller, tidier version of the Atlantic without the briny scent or the dependable tides.  When hunting for seashells at the ocean one merely has to wait for the water to recede with the tide and collect the bounty the waves have deposited on the shore.  Along the lake, you may find treasures in the sand, but hunting for gifts of the current in freshwater often requires looking beneath the waves.

Treasures Lie Just Beyond the Water’s Edge
August 2020

Yards from the shore Penny hollered, “Come on, you two.  If I knew you weren’t going to get out any deeper in the water than that I’d have never gone for the suits.”

She’s right, I thought, but before I could go more than a few feet out into the water I slipped on a hidden rock and went in face first.  Surprised and gulping for air, I got to my feet only to be kissed right on the lips by a huge wave.  Down again.  Spitting water and making my way to the shore,  I rose once again, but…those rhythmic waves just kept coming and I was down once more.  This time I held my head above water and swam-crawled to the sand only to discover my dear, sweet sisters laughing hysterically.

“Are you OK?” Kelly asked between fits of laughter.  Such sympathy and concern.  

Climbing from the water I made my way to one of the fallen logs to take a break.  Just as I did, the water that I was dripping, revealed the Holy Grail.  My first Petoskey!  It had all been worth it.  She was a beauty.

My Beautiful Friend and Teacher

“There’s a flame of magic inside every stone & every flower, every bird that sings & every frog that croaks. There’s magic in the trees & the hills & the river & the rocks, in the sea & the stars & the wind, a deep, wild magic that’s as old as the world itself. It’s in you too, my darling girl, and in me, and in every living creature, be it ever so small. Even the dirt I’m sweeping up now is stardust. In fact, all of us are made from the stuff of stars”.

Kate Forsyth

“Listen to the rocks and mountains,” instructed my Native American friend. “They have great wisdom.”

At the time, I dismissed this thought out of hand. What could a non-living thing teach me? Over the years my sensibilities and understanding have undergone an awakening. I have begun to recognize that there is a deep connection that exists between and within all inhabitants of the natural world. The same elements…the same atoms…the same stardust that is in me is present in all that surrounds me. Life is too complicated to leave all the lessons to sentient beings. Perhaps, if we listen closely we’ll understand the tutorials of the quaking Aspen and the rhythmic crash of the ocean as it kisses the shore, or the lessons taught by the intertwining roots of the Giant Redwoods and the Sunflower always keeping her eyes on the prize.

“Study how water flows in a valley stream, smoothly and freely between the rocks. Also learn from holy books and wise people. Everything – even mountains, rivers, plants and trees – should be your teacher.”

Morihei Ushiba

As a novice collector, I soon learned that many tedious hours of hand-sanding…with water and increasingly finer grit sandpaper… is the most common way to bring out the hidden pattern of Petoskey stones. I’ll admit, after hours spent together, I developed a friendly relationship with this once-living creature as I worked and like any good friend, she taught me a great number of lessons. Oh, there was the obvious lesson of patience, perseverance, and purpose, but there was also the unexpected message of rebirth and redemption.

One of Mom’s Favorite Beaches to Hunt Petoskey Stones
Point Betsy, August 2020

Imagine it. For a time beyond my comprehension, this piece of calcified coral has been on a journey to find me. It traveled north with the movement of tectonic plates, was buried during the ice age, was scraped up by the glaciers, and buffeted about beneath the waves of Lake Michigan until it came to rest on the beach where it waited for me to recognize it, pick it up, and joyfully carry it home to be sanded, polished, and treasured.

She is a determined instructor and her lessons are still being taught when I focus and listen, but for now, it’s enough just to know that the universe is full of unimaginable adventures still awaiting me and that I really have no way of knowing upon which rock-strewn stretch of beach I’ll be found.