just BE MINDFUL

Several years ago, I was on my annual girl’s trip in the British Virgin Islands. While on an excursion, we visited Norman Island and the famous “Willy T” floating bar located off the north shore in a sheltered bay. The “Willy T” is a 120 ft. steel hulled ship permanently moored in the cove and is only accessible by boat or water taxi. They serve food, drinks, and always have loud music and a rowdy crowd. Taking a plunge from the top deck is somewhat of a rite of passage for vacationers.

It wasn’t my first trip out to the bar, but I had never jumped. I’m afraid of heights and especially falling so I watched as most of the crowd I was with enjoyed the afternoon running up the steel stairs, climbing over the top railing, and hurling themselves into the clear blue water below. From the dinghy where I was sitting it didn’t look high at all. Piece of cake. I vowed to myself that if I ever came back, I would do it. Not because I felt pressure or had to conquer my fear of heights, but because I wanted to, and it looked like a blast.

Fast forward a couple of years and I’m sitting in a different dinghy with most of the same people. My heart is racing as the others step from the boat over to “Willy T’s”, climb up to the top deck and jump with ease. Reluctantly, I made my way up the stairs, scrambled over the railing and held on for dear life. It might as well have been ten stories high instead of two. This is where I stood for the next 25 minutes. With my back to the railing and both hands in a death grip on the slender steel bars, I watched as men somersaulted, kids belly flopped, and women jumped into the water.

Trying to get enough nerve to finally let go, I listened to the advice being shouted from my friends below. “Just let go and jump”, “Just hold his hand and jump together”, “Just don’t think about it and do it”. It was all really good advice but the more they encouraged me the more terrified I became. I felt silly and wanted everyone to go about their day and let me be. Deep down inside I knew it wasn’t a big deal but the longer it went on, the more childish and stupid I felt. Mainly out of embarrassment and humiliation, I finally stepped off the ledge and it was over in less than a second. I was right - it was fun. Soon, we were back on the boat headed to our hotel.

Reflecting on the adventure, I wondered why I became more agitated and afraid when advice was offered. Everyone was so supportive and sympathetic, but there was something about using the word “just” when telling me how to handle the situation that rubbed me the wrong way and felt condescending. The Cambridge Dictionary defines “just” used in this context as “only; simply”. We often use “simply” and “easily” interchangeably but they are so different, especially in the midst of fear. That’s why it bothered me! Sure, it was simple to let go but it wasn’t easy. Maybe it was easy for the others but not for me. If it was, I would’ve done it. It’s like telling someone in the throes of an asthma attack to just breathe or someone having an anxiety attack to just relax.

Later, I started asking myself what is helpful about adding “just” to a suggestion or to advice I’m giving someone? “Just turn it over to God”, “Just talk to them about it”, “Just tell them how you feel”, and the list goes on. Absolutely nothing positive results by the extra word in most cases and I do it quite often. The advice would be the same without it. “Hold his hand and jump” and “Let go”. Better still, “would it help if you held his hand and jumped?”, or “Do you feel like you can let go?”, or “Could you talk to them?”

It is often hard for me to understand fear when it is different from what I experience. One of my very best friends has an extreme fear of getting in and out of a kayak. Trying to be supportive of her so she could enjoy the serenity and beauty of being on the water, I invited her up to the lake to give it a try. I can remember telling her, “Just hold the side and put one foot in and then the other”, “You’re fine, just plop in and sit down” or “just get in like you do on a ride at the fair”. Without realizing it, I was not helping. In fact, I was telling her that it was easy, and she was making too big of a deal out of something so minor. When I said those things, she became frustrated with herself for being afraid. After a little time, she was able to get in the kayak and we had a wonderful day.

Hindsight is 20/20 and after experiencing these difficulties, I am becoming more mindful of how I communicate with others. Fear is very subjective. Our state of mind is so important in determining how we receive, interpret, and react to information.

In no way am I suggesting handling every conversation with kid gloves or taking responsibility for how others feel and react, but to be more aware of how I interact and take a loving and caring approach in all situations. That’s what mindfulness really is about - awareness.

Many times, we know what we need. Asking my friend what would be helpful to her would’ve been a better approach. Maybe she knew. Maybe she knew nothing I said would’ve helped. In that case, I could’ve stood by her and been quietly present. Looking back on what I needed that day on the top deck of “Willy T’s”, it’s pretty clear. I needed to take my time, I needed to know my friends were there if I decided to jump, and I needed to know it was perfectly ok if I didn’t.