When I was a kid, I used to love the high dive. I don’t mean the “higher” diving board, we had that, too. I mean that solid, grey-brown block of pounds and pounds and pounds of smooth concrete, with the ladder that reached to God, Himself. Never look down while climbing up. Walk to the edge and tease yourself with the fall before taking the leap.
The sense of pride after taking that plunge, and resurfacing to happy cheers from encouraging people. The nods of “well done, no fear.” Thanks! Your turn, dudes.
Well, I’m 43 now, and suck it up routinely to even make it off the side of our public pool. Okay, routinely is a bit of a stretch, because I am a sit-on-the-side-and-push-off-into-the-water kind of gal now. I like the “ease on in” approach. The tummy-tickles from standing and staring down into water that my feet have…
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