30 Life Lessons - Leap or Stop?

I completed my undergraduate degree in Potsdam, NY. For those unfamiliar with New York State's landscape, the Adirondack Mountains are in the north-central part of the state—a breathtakingly beautiful area to visit (or live if the remote mountain life is your speed). North of the Adirondacks, but just a bit south of Canada, is the North Country.

As steep as the Adirondacks are, the North Country is relatively flat and cold. I mean, it's frigid. The kind of cold where snow crunches and you can wake up to mornings where the campus alert system warns you about the temperature at which flesh freezes (I distinctly remember getting at least one of these alerts in my time in Potsdam). Winter in the North Country can arrive as early as mid-October and has been known to last until Mother's Day (It has snowed at graduation on more than one occasion). Given that the academic year starts in late August and ends in early May, only a few months at school weren't cold and/or snowy. All these facts come into play in the story I am about to tell.

While many had warned me about the seasons in Potsdam, these warnings could not have adequately prepared me for the harsh reality. The winter of the first year felt impossibly long. Maybe it was being away from home for the first time. Perhaps it was the stress of living on my own. Or maybe the change in academic difficulty was to blame. In all likelihood, it was the combination of all three. As January trudged into February, which begrudgingly gave way to March, I started to see the faintest hint of a break in the winter weather.

Then it happened! Sunshine peered through the clouds, the temperature rose, and snow began to melt. Spring was starting to appear, and I felt hope and energy again. It would take several more weeks for the green to appear on campus and for the temperature to become consistently high enough so that the non-townies would feel comfortable without a jacket. However, change was coming!

The academic quad at SUNY Potsdam was a large square of buildings with the library in the center of the quad. A fair amount of green space, walking paths, and artwork filled the space between the edges of the quad and the library in the center. The library is lower in elevation than the rest of the quad, so on the outer edges, there are retaining walls that appear shorter from one direction and taller from another (this will play an essential role in what I am about to share).

It was a beautiful spring day. It was warm enough to wander about without a coat, and much (but not all) of the snow had melted. You could see green almost everywhere, and I was filled with energy that I could not explain. We had just finished a meal in the Student Union and walked toward the quad. Unexplainably, I felt the need to run, and as I started running, I spotted one of the retaining walls. In what would become a series of bad decisions, I decided I needed to jump over the retaining wall. I was on the short side of the retaining wall. I did not have the 20/20 hindsight I now have and did not realize there was a drop-off after the wall.

I started running toward the wall and reached the moment I would have to launch into the air to clear the wall. In that split second, I saw it. Beyond the wall was snow and a massive puddle of what would no doubt be freezing water. I knew that I might not be able to clear the puddle without more speed/effort.

I had two logical choices at that moment: apply more speed/effort to clear the puddle or stop and not jump at all. I did not choose either of these options. Instead, I went for the middle ground. I kept the original plan of jumping the wall but applied less effort/speed. As I left the ground to vault over the wall, I did not have enough height to clear the obstacle fully. One foot made it over, and the other, well, almost. My toe caught the wall, and my forward trajectory changed significantly. I toppled over the wall and flopped squarely into the puddle of melted snow instead of clearing the puddle on the other side. Wow! That was cold!

I wish I could say those were the only mishaps that spring day, but they were not. I failed at climbing a tree on the quad shortly after this incident (my clothes were not yet dry from the puddle).

The boundless energy I had that warm spring day did not come with boundless common sense. Reflecting on the last 30 years of my life, I realize this is often true.

What did I learn that day? It might seem cliché, but I learned a practical application of "look before you leap." In my case, however, I also learned that once you have looked, you must decide. The actual flaw in my reaction to the puddle was that I was unwilling to commit to one of the two logical paths: run faster or stop. Instead, I let my actions be impacted by indecision. I wasn't willing to stop, but I also wasn't willing to put in the additional energy to succeed. If I had stopped, I could have backed up and tried again. If I had committed to jumping over, I would have known if I had the speed and agility to clear the obstacle.

To this day, I still struggle to commit to a decision from time to time. I spend lots of time looking but not nearly as much leaping. I often try to travel the middle way without fully committing to either direction.

Where are the points when you are faced leaping over a retaining wall like me? Assess the obstacle, but remember that you must also stop or leap. Make a choice and commit!

Be well!

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