Let's Go, Jane!

The first cliff jump was easy. I had already done a jump just like it, in Puerto Rico last spring. I held my nose and stepped forward, falling into the teal waters below. I swam back and did it again. I was happy to have a wetsuit on, having been the only one in our group to follow the recommendation of our guide, Chivito. It felt warm on the beach, dry and in the sun. But after snorkeling for an extended period, my fellow kayakers were getting chilled.

Chivito, a 35-year old man from Ecuador, suggested another higher jump for those of us who wanted a bigger challenge. We swam across the inlet to another rocky outcrop. The three teenage boys from Mexico scrambled up, as did the two young women from Russia. I started to climb, and then hesitated.

Chivito saw the look on my face and offered encouragement. In that moment, I thought “how will I know if I can do it, if I don’t try?” I reached for the nearest rock and started to ascend. One by one, everyone jumped off until only the guide and I remained. I stood at the edge of the rock and looked down. It was a lot higher than the last jump. But this was about more than just the height, this was about trust—trusting myself.

“You only live once,” I thought. And I jumped.

One theme that keeps presenting itself during my extended travels is trust. I don’t mean the kind of trust where your boyfriend tells you the secret ingredient in his guacamole, I mean self-trust. Trust that my 53-year-old body is capable of whatever physical challenges I throw at it. Trust that I have what I need to keep myself safe and whole.

I have said to Carey before that I’m not interested in being in a long distance relationship, and yet here I am creating distance by traveling for months at a time. I have to trust that we can maintain enough of a connection over the next six months that it will sustain us until we can attempt to live in the same place next year. Of course it’s far easier right now, when he’s here in Lisbon with me all week.

And Carey has to believe that I won’t do anything to break his trust while I’m out adventuring on my own. “My guide invited me to join him for a drink tonight,” I said when I got back from kayaking in Costa Brava. Carey was unbothered, teasing me by calling it a baby-date.

Of course, trust isn’t only about relationships—it’s also about what I ask of myself physically. I think back to my first solo trip in March. I signed up for an excursion into the rainforest, and was easily 20 years older than everyone else in the group. We started hiking and came to these steep, muddy steps. For a moment, I wondered if I was physically able to do this hike. In the end, I not only completed the hike but also jumped off a cliff and went down a rock slide. It was a huge confidence boost.

I’m still learning what I’m capable of. I hit a new record the other day in Barcelona, walking 23,000 steps in one day. While snorkeling, I hauled myself from the water back into the kayak relying only on upper body strength.

Just as important as trusting my body is trusting my judgment. At the end of the evening, Chivito said he was going salsa dancing. I stifled a yawn and said I would head back to the hostel. It was after 11 pm, but the sidewalks were still full of pedestrians. I saw other women walking alone, and decided it was safe for me to walk back by myself. I’m learning to trust my instincts.

I had to rely on those same instincts when I followed a man with a basket into the woods in Finland to go mushroom foraging, just the two of us. Or when I found myself alone in a hot spring in Colorado with a white supremacist. And…when my 35-year old kayaking guide invited me out for a drink.

In the end, every leap feels a little like that moment on the rock—hesitation, a quick breath, and then trust. Trust in my body, in my instincts, my relationships, and most importantly in myself. Travel keeps presenting me with these cliffs to stand on, daring me to jump. And each time I do, I discover I’m more capable than I imagined.