This is what it feels like to cliff jump.
Literally and figuratively, of course.
It’s 2010 and I’ve landed in Rome, Italy. It’s my first time out of the country and frankly, I’m a mess. Though I journeyed over with close friends for a semester abroad, I found myself in tears regularly, unable to cope with the basic challenges of life in a foreign country. Within the first two weeks, my mom offered to fly me back home.
I decided to push through.
And, it was the best decision I ever made.
I fell in love with the country and a whole damn continent. I discovered what it meant to gain a new perspective. I ate new food - Nutella, can you believe it was my first time?!, experienced new languages, too bad I didn’t learn one, and even met the person that would become my husband 10 years later, swoon.
Months into the semester, on an excursion to the Amalfi Coast, I found myself atop a 30 ft cliff staring out into the Mediterranean with a line of eager jumpers behind me. I was meant to jump off of said cliff. And the height looked way more manageable from the boat I was on just minutes before. The feeling in my stomach is one I can still access today. Initially it was a sickening sensation and then an utter disbelief at the choice I had to make. The cold, the height, the impact. There was a heaviness to the physical and mental unknown in front of me. Somehow, somewhere, my 21-year-old self mustered the wherewithal to step forward and take a leap of faith into the abyss.
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It’s 2022 and I’m in my home office in Brooklyn, New York. I’m on calls 80% of my workday and I have very little in-person contact with the outside world. I’m averaging 1k steps a day and I’m feeling uninspired at best and burnt out at worst. I’m conditioned to believe that grinding away like a worker bee at someone else’s vision of success is my vision and success too. Suffering from personal loss and professional wreckage, I was operating from a place of despair, regularly embodying the puddle of a person I was as a 21-year-old in Rome.
This time, I was told to stop pushing through.
And, it was the best decision I ever made.
In 2023, I stood on the metaphorical cliff and hovered over the edge, scared shitless at jumping. Never without a salary, a company name or a place to clock in since I started working, I pictured what a cliff jump might feel like. Initially it was a sickening sensation and then an utter disbelief at the choice I had to make. The financial unknown, the fear of not succeeding, the imposter syndrome of starting something new. There was a heaviness to the physical and mental unknown in front of me.
Family pleaded with me to protect my mental health.
Friends reminded me of my professional track record.
Strangers showed me that I’d be ok, because they were doing just fine.
Somehow, somewhere, my 34-year-old self mustered the wherewithal to step forward and take a leap of faith into the abyss.
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What a difference a year makes.
Today, I feel more inspired and more creative than I ever have (maybe in my entire career). It’s not without hard work or challenges, but its deeply fulfilling in a way that’s hard to explain. That cliff jump changed my life for the better in every way. This Thanksgiving I’m filled with immense gratitude for the leap I took.
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When was the last time you jumped off a cliff?
And what if I told you that you’d be more than ok, that you’d thrive.
People don’t cliff jump alone.
Thanks to Sonja and Nicole for jumping alongside me in 2010. Sonja, you put up with a LOT of BS. You’re an angel. And,
, I’m really sorry you lost your toenail on the jump. I think it was still worth it. And thanks to my mom for offering to fly me home to Chicago so I could turn it down. It was a choice I relish in to this day.Thank you to all of the amazing friends and acquaintances who helped show me a new way. Like Mat for pumping me up to jump. And for Sutton, Suzy, my parents and sister for reminding me that my mental health comes first. It meant more than you know, Dad. To all the amazing strangers who responded to my cold emails to show and tell me a new way of living and happiness. Time is money and your time meant everything to me. To old coworkers like Anya who inspired me to write, to strangers who became fast friends and co-conspirators like Connie. To the first coach I ever worked with, Angeline who pushed me to experiment.
And thank you most of all to my husband, Todd. You’re the true yang to my yin. ☯️
Happy Thanksgiving.