Born Brave

My two-year-old went down a waterslide and disappeared for a full minute. Not figuratively.

A full. Entire. Minute.

I know because we were recording him.

This wasn't some massive, terrifying waterslide that twisted through the side of a mountain. It was a little tube slide at a waterpark. The kind of thing I thought would be fun for a two-year-old.

Except he didn't come out.

At first, we were laughing.

Then we started looking at each other.

Then the laughter stopped.

And then, suddenly, he appeared.

Backwards.

One leg bent in a way that made absolutely no sense.

He looked like someone had tossed a toddler into the slide, shaken him around, and sent him back out in whatever position he landed.

He hit the water at the bottom backwards, went under for a second, and I was already moving toward him.

I got to him immediately, picked him up, and asked, probably with a little more panic in my voice than I intended, "Are you okay?"

He threw both hands straight into the air.

"AWESOME!"

And just like that, he was ready to do it again.

I stood there thinking:

What happened to that?

When did we lose that?

When did we stop throwing our hands in the air and saying awesome?

Because somewhere along the way, most of us learned fear.

Not the healthy kind of fear that keeps us from walking into traffic or touching a hot stove.

I'm talking about the fear that quietly grows alongside us.

The fear of failing.

The fear of looking stupid.

The fear of disappointing people.

The fear of making the wrong decision.

The fear of spending money.

The fear of leaving the safe job.

The fear of starting over.

The fear of being judged.

The fear of trying something and discovering we're not very good at it.

The fear of what people will think.

Maybe the strangest part is that we don't come into the world knowing how to be afraid of most of these things.

We learn them.

We watch other people hesitate.

We hear "be careful."

We get embarrassed.

We fail.

Someone tells us we're not good enough.

We take a risk and it doesn't work out.

We get our hearts broken.

We make a mistake that costs us something.

And little by little, we become more careful.

More calculated.

More comfortable.

Until one day we realize we're standing at the edge of something we really want, and instead of jumping, we're making a list of every possible reason we shouldn't.

And meanwhile, our kids are launching themselves down waterslides backwards.

Maybe that's what hit me that day.

My kids weren't fearless because they knew nothing could go wrong.

They were fearless because they didn't know enough yet to convince themselves that something would go wrong.

They trusted.

They tried.

They experienced something unexpected, popped back up, and decided it was awesome.

There was no replaying the moment in their heads.

No "what if?"

No embarrassment about the awkward landing.

No worrying about what everyone watching thought.

Just:

That was awesome.

I don't think we're supposed to stay that way forever.

Growing up means learning some fear.

That's part of life.

Some fear protects us.

Some caution is wisdom.

But I wonder how much of the fear we carry as adults is actually protecting us...

…and how much is simply keeping us from living?

How many things have we talked ourselves out of because we were afraid?

How many dreams have we postponed until we felt "ready"?

How many adventures have we skipped because they were inconvenient, uncomfortable, expensive, uncertain, or just a little outside our comfort zone?

How many times have we said, "Maybe someday"?

But our kids don't say "maybe someday."

They say, "Watch this."

And then they jump.

So maybe the lesson isn't that we need to become fearless.

Maybe we just need to become a little more willing to feel fear and go anyway.

Because courage isn't the absence of fear.

It's deciding that the thing on the other side of the fear is worth it.

I'm going to keep teaching my kids to be careful.

I'm going to keep reminding them to listen, look, slow down, and make smart choices.

But I'm also going to try really hard NOT to teach them that the world is something to be afraid of.

I want them to stay curious.

I want them to try things.

I want them to fall down and get back up.

I want them to chase the things that make them excited.

I want them to know that sometimes the best stories begin with, "This might be a terrible idea."

And maybe, every once in a while, I need to take my own advice.

Maybe I need to stop asking, "What if it doesn't work?"

And start asking:

"What if it does?"

Because somewhere inside all of us is the kid who would come flying out of a waterslide backwards, half underwater, one leg bent completely wrong, throw their hands in the air and yell:

"AWESOME!"

Maybe we don't need to find that kid again.

Maybe we just need to stop being so afraid of letting them out.

Stay curious. Stay grounded. Keep roaming.