I remember learning to dive. I was about six years old. We were on vacation in California. My family (mom, dad, two older sisters and I), plus my aunt, had driven from Ontario, Canada, across the United States, and were now staying in a motel. This was a big deal. We’d camped the rest of the way. Now, we were staying in a place with a swimming pool, so my dad decided to teach me to dive.
I’d stand at the side of the pool, toes curled over the edge, arms stretched long over my head, palms pressed together, knees bent, and leaning forward with my hands pointing toward the water. My dad was in the pool, standing to the side of me, facing me. He held his right arm out, parallel to the water, and a foot or two in front of my waist. “Now, just lean over my arm and fall in,” he said.
I knew what to do. I’d done all the prep: Bathing suit? Check. Know how to swim? Check. Haven’t eaten in the last 20 minutes? Check. And I was following the instructions from someone I trusted: Proper stance. Proper alignment. Proper position. Rodger Wilco. There was nothing else I needed or needed to know. Just dive in.
…but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I wanted to but couldn’t.
“Take a deep breath and lean over my arm,” said Dad.
I took deep breath after deep breath after deep breath, almost hyperventilating. Still, I couldn’t do it.
“Lean a little farther forward,” encouraged Dad.
“I can’t,” I said, standing up straight, dropping my arms loosely to my sides, my back losing all rigidness in that floppy way kids have when all their trying suddenly deflates from them like a balloon flying off the blower-upper.
I wanted to learn to dive. I really did. My sisters could dive, and it looked fun. But I was scared. A few bellyflop attempts made me realize this skill came with a chance of getting hurt.
I wasn’t a daring kid. I always went feet first down the slide. I didn’t jump off the swing until it was almost stopped. I took forever to run in when my sisters would turn the long skipping rope for me — one foot in front of the other, body rocking forward and back, trying to time my entry perfectly so I wouldn’t trip and be out.
“Yes, you can,” said Dad. “Try again.”
Toes over the edge. Feet together. Arms up. Palms together. Knees bent. Stomach curved. Hands pointed downward. Lean forward. Deep breath. Deep breath. Deep breath. Lean a bit more. Deep breath. Deep breath. Deep breath. Deep breath. Lean a bit more. Deep breath. Deep breath. Deep breath. SPLASH!!
“I did it!” I said, coming up for air.
“Yes, you did,” said Dad.
“I wanna do it again!” I said, scrambling out of the pool.
And I did. Again. And again. And again. And again. Each time was easier and more fun than the last.
Swimming is one of my favourite activities. And there’s nothing like the feeling of diving into the water and then swimming the length of the pool, propelled by the speed and momentum all the prep and know-how (while important) can’t provide.
I learned to dive because I trusted in my inner able-ness, trusted my guides (my dad and also my inner voice), and trusted my inner knowing that when I want something and dare to do it, joy and fun await.
…THEN, I had the courage to say Yes to my desire and dive in head-first.
Where in your life are you afraid to dive into something new or different but really want to?
All the prep and know-how can only get you so far.
If there’s a yearning in your heart, it’s your Soul nudging you toward something greater.
I know you can do it. Take a deep breath (or two or three) and lean forward. My arm is outstretched. You’re not alone.
Reconnecting you with the courage to follow your heart is what I do. Let’s dive in.
It’s time to feel the freedom and joy of a heart-led, Soul-aligned life.
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