When we were little my dad would take us climbing on the big boulders around our summer cabin. He taught my brother, sister and me how to climb these rocks: how to look only at the boulder in front of us instead of looking at the whole daunting climb looming before us, and how to calm ourselves by "sitting down where our feet were."
Once we were 8 or 9 years old we would beg him to let us do "The Jump." As jumps go this one was fairly tame, it was only 3 or so feet and had the advantage of jumping from a slightly higher elevation to a slightly lower one. The scary part about this jump was that it had no visible bottom. Dad would assess us instantly and say "Of course you can do it. Jump!" And we did. I thought we were very brave. It wasn't until I took my own children climbing, and until they asked me whether they could do "The Jump" that I realized it was my father who was the brave one. I wasn't so brave; I waffled, knowing that while they could make the jump fearing what would happen if they didn't.
So now my daughter is in her room packing. She is going to spend the next 27 months in Nicaragua volunteering for the Peace Corps. I am proud of her; I am excited for her; I am scared for her her; I will miss her, but I've learned my lesson, so I say, "Of course you can do it. Jump!"
