On a hot summer day, my friend Larry and I headed to the mall for a smoothie. Entering on the fourth floor, we walked into a large group of young kids with teen counselors, all in matching summer-camp-logo blue t-shirts. Parents think they’re sending their kids on a wilderness adventure, but they’re really just being taken to the mall, Larry quipped. We had a good laugh and continued on our way.
Riding the escalator down to the food court gave us an unobstructed view of a giant ropes course extending the full four-stories of the building. Ah, we speculated, this must be where the camp kids were taken to simulate the great outdoors. We reached Mr. Smoothie, and I didn’t give the matter another thought until I heard a child’s voice in a panic. I don’t want to do it! I don’t want to do it! A small boy of about six, with round glasses, clung to a railing at the edge of a walkway. Wooden planks 18” apart and strung together by ropes provided a bridge to the far platform. Poor little guy, I thought, and then turned back to the attendant customizing my beverage.
With drinks in hand, Larry and I walked over to watch the kids climb. I began to study them more closely. The little boy had made it to the other side, and I continued to watch as he—shakily but bravely—faced the next obstacle, and the next, and the next. There was no adult cheering him on from the sidelines. This kid was finding his courage all by himself!
Above us, an older boy practically ran across the highest wooden walkway, fully confident and self-directed. A group of three girls navigated crossings together, and a small child was held up by one of the teen helpers while stepping slowly onto a rope bridge. All the children were tethered by harnesses that connected to a track above them and pivoted on a single wheel. It’s interesting what kids can do when they feel safe, Larry noticed. Adults, too, I added, reflecting on the challenges my coaching clients bravely faced that week.
I kept an eye on the little boy with the glasses throughout his adventure. Though strapped in and safe from falling, he still stood at the edge of his own fear. Yes, he trembled at first and cried out. And then, he moved forward at his own pace. He stayed true to himself in every single step, focusing and taking slightly greater risks each time.
This brave heart touched mine, reawakening an appreciation for true, vulnerable courage—the kind that can only be accessed in the present moment, one step at a time, once we know (really know) we’re safe.