The character has to jump into the story, into the discomfort and the fear, otherwise the story will never happen.

This is one of the many quotes underlined, circled, highlighted and scribbled down onto the wrinkled pages of my journal. Taken from a book my brother deemed “unimpressive”…in fact, I actually think he went as far as to declare the content “blah.” Yes, yes that’s what he said, “blah.” Well, my feet are planted and I steadily disagree.

But I don’t want to talk about the book. I mean, besides the one sentence copied above.

Anyway. So a couple months ago, after an especially inspiring listen to Emiliana Torrini’s song Big Jumps, I decided to hijack it as my anthem for 2010. My friend Jen creates a motto at the beginning of every new year, a theme to mark the segmented 365 days. I’m simply following suit. Thanks Jen. I even scrawled the words in large letters on a page of my planner, ripped out said page and slapped it onto my wall o' bits. To make the statement even more official, I told some boy about it. As if it was some huge epiphany or something, as if I stumbled upon some bit of inspiration to start walking towards. He asked me what this looks like, I mean, what sort of big jumps exactly? Well, it does just sound so awfully exciting doesn’t it?

I didn’t respond.

Anyway. So I spent last week in Guatemala. It was incredible. But I don’t want to talk about Guatemala either. I mean, besides this one little boy. Well two actually, but mostly just the one. So Cailah and I took a boat out on Lake Atitlan to this little community called Santa Catarina. After wandering around a bit we followed a woman up some stairs to an outdoor café overlooking the lake. We watched women and children doing their laundry in the lake and talked about taking pictures. You know, that fine line that exists between attempting to capture moments versus living through your lens rather than your senses. And then there’s the other one, the idea of making people into caricatures by photographing them in order to tell your story, your experience, your adventure. Cailah didn’t take any pictures.

I did.

Anyway. So out in the lake there were these two young boys. Swimming and splashing and throwing rocks. After a few minutes they discovered the joy of climbing up onto an abandoned boat. Making their way to the edge, they stepped up and wrapped their arches around the curved lip of the boat. Laughing they began swinging their arms for momentum, counting down, preparing for the big moment. When the time came, only one boy felt his feet leave the white fiberglass and be swallowed by the cool water. The other boy, my dear Guatemalan counterpart, he remained clinging to the roof of the boat. His friend paddled around the other side and climbed back aboard, they tried a second time. Once again, only one body felt the freedom of pushing off into the air. This process repeated itself. Many times. I watched intently as the desire of this young boy struggled, fought and was defeated continually by the nemesis fear. He swung his arms, he bent his knees…and he watched his friend’s splash from the side of the boat. Cailah and I were enthralled. We were rooting for him, we were whispering the words jump jump jump to ourselves. I wanted to tell him he could do it, that it wasn’t that high, that the longer he waited the harder the task would seem. After what seemed like hours of this agony, when it was least expected, when I had almost given up hope…he jumped. His friend squealed. I clapped. The boy’s face broke through the water, he was smiling.

And so he jumped in. That day will now be remembered as the day he crawled up onto that boat and did cannonballs off its tarnished side. It’s a memory created. It’s a story. It’s a good story. Standing on the side of an old boat crippled by fear, that’s not a good story. That’s not an event to be remembered. That’s just kind of sad.

What am I saying? I’m saying I want to actually really listen to Emiliana. I want to imitate this young boy. I want the story to happen. Living here in Costa Rica for this period of my life offers so many unique possibilities, not the least of which is to learn a second language. Spending months in a Spanish speaking country, my lips bound shut by fear: fear of making mistakes, of embarrassment, fear of failure. That’s not a good story. That’s not even an event to be remembered. That’s just kind of sad.

And so here’s to trying harder. To giving myself wholly to this challenge. To taking risks. To not walking away.

To jumping in.