“Let’s jump Humphrey Falls,” someone had suggested, and in all my twenty-one-year-old wisdom, I couldn’t find a reason why I shouldn’t. I was determined to go through with it, but standing at the edge of its thirty-foot plummet, I hesitated. The scene before me was not what I had imagined. The waterfall’s roar pounded in my ears and I hadn’t expected the jagged rocks that outlined the bottom of the canyon. Somehow I had to aim my leap to miss those teeth and land in the watery throat at the bottom.

Adrenaline flooded my body, but rather than hold me back, it flung me over the edge.

Such were the days of my fearless youth. Fear meant little to me and never prevented me from doing what I wanted to do. It didn’t stop me from racing my little red stick-shift down mountain roads going far too fast for my own good. It didn’t hinder me from moving to a third world country in my early twenties and starting a new life on my own. It definitely didn’t hold me back from going wild pig hunting in the jungle or swimming in rivers where alligators hunted.

Even if it meant provoking the school bully—if I thought it was right and just—I spoke up. Even when it meant pointing out hypocrisy in my local church, I stood up. I didn’t fear what others thought of me or worry about the consequences. I was just as passionate in my pursuit of Jesus as I was in pursuing adventure.

I desired to live and to live fully. My only fear was that I would become complacent in life and accept a dull and lifeless existence. But now when I look back on those days, I wonder: was I really fearless? Or had the cheap shine of naivete not yet worn off?

It’s easy to be brave when you have nothing to lose and you do not yet understand the cost of courage. But when I met my husband, had children, and began building a life, it became harder to throw myself to the wind…..

*This is an excerpt of an article I wrote for Fathom Magazine. To access the full article, click here.

Photo Credit: @arstyy at Unsplash