Redefining Success

When I was in fifth grade, our class took a trip to a camp and stayed overnight. My only real, concrete memory of the experience is of the ropes course. Not because of anything I did, but because of what I didn't do.

Namely, I didn't do a single thing on the ropes course. I put on the harness because we were required to, but I didn't take a single step on a single ladder or set foot in any sort of line that was forming. I was the only one. Another girl stayed with me on the bench for a while, but she was pressured into trying, and, halfway up, she began to bawl and had to be helped down by the very people who had pushed her into something she had never wanted to do.

One of the things people running ropes courses always tell you - and I even heard this here at Viata camp - is that if you don't try, you're going to regret it. I disagree. And I think that's among the lousiest reasons to accept a challenge. I don't regret not going up in fifth grade. In fact, I consider my experience a success. I stood up to peer pressure and stayed away from something that I knew - even though I wasn't familiar with the terminology at the time - would push me into my "panic zone," which Michelle explained in her last post.

Because, in fifth grade, I had the courage to refuse a challenge, I don't have fear-filled memories of ropes courses. My memories of that day are of, as Pippin would say, "strength of a different kind." I don't regret my decision not to participate then. Because of that choice, I was able, this past week, to accept the same challenge.

Before going to the ropes course, we talked about the concept of "redefining success." What is easy for one person might be a challenge for another. We can't measure our own success in relation to what other people have done before us, or what they do later.

There were several times during my experience at the ropes course that I experienced true success. The first was when Matt Gray gave me a little "nudge out of the door" and I got in line for an element that involved jumping from one platform to another. By know, I know peer pressure when I see it, and that wasn't it. He could tell that I'd already committed. He simply gave me the extra bit of encouragement I needed.

So, yes, it felt good when I actually got up there, called "Nobody tosses a Dwarf!" and jumped from the platform. But the moment of success actually came when I told myself that, yes, I was going to do this. When I committed beyond any hope of backing out.

The next element was a "High Mohawk," which involves two people walking across a rather thin wire from one tree to another with the help of a few ropes of various lengths suspended from another rope above. The kind of thing that, in fifth grade, would have scared me out of my wits.

But, because of the choice I made then, I didn't re-experience the terror I'm sure I would have felt if I had attempted the element before. Instead, after a few pairs had gone, Cata, one of our leaders, held out a harness expectantly towards our group of Romanian teenagers. No one wanted to go up. Knowing the answer to my question before I even asked it, I asked, "Are you looking for a volunteer?"

Another success. Not because I climbed the ladder or crossed the wire. Not even because I did it with a girl who didn't speak a word of English. But because I decided to. Without any pressure. Without a nudge. Without anyone even asking if I wanted to. Simply because I volunteered.

I consider both of these elements a success. I also consider the last one, the Flying Squirrel, a success, even though, by that point, it wasn't much of a challenge. All I had to do was run in one direction while the rest of the group, pulling on a rope, ran in the other direction, pulling me up into the air. Before you're let down, you're supposed to sing a song. I sang what has become my personal anthem for this trip:

The Road goes ever on and on,
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow if I can.

That's as far as I got before my feet touched the ground, so I'd like to share the rest:

Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way,
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

Yes, I consider those successes. And many other people probably would, as well. But, to be brutally honest, it took more courage for me to say "No" in fifth grade than it did for me to say "Yes" last week. It took more strength - strength of a different kind. And, even though I'm proud of what I accomplished last week, I'm even prouder of what I did back then. Proud that, as a fifth grader, I was comfortable enough with myself to define my own success when everyone else considered what I did a failure. I set my own limits then - reasonable ones - then, so that, later, I would be able to break them.

So, as the Klingon's say, Q'apla. I wish you success, however you define it.

Godspeed,
Beth