At the End of the High Dive

By Joy Nicholas

I stand at the end of the diving board, looking down at the water. Is it really only ten feet? The sun is hot, but I’m cold and shaking. The water will probably hurt when my body hits it. Sure, age is just a number, until you’re showing off cartwheels for your kids—or jumping from the high dive.

I can already feel the way my stomach will drop as I fall, how the water will sting as it rushes into my nose and pushes against my eardrums while gravity shoves my body further into the water than I want to go.

Time has taught me wariness. Caution is welcome now after a few hard falls that hurt too much.

My toes are level with the end of the board, and the lifeguard nods from his chair, telling me to go ahead. Behind me, on the ground, I can hear kids murmuring, probably thinking how ridiculous it is for me to be there.

I can’t.

Embarrassed, I back myself cautiously down the ladder. My kids, who thought they’d talked me into something crazy, are disappointed, so I tease them that they won’t be collecting their inheritance today. Then I jump off the regular diving board to show I’m not completely boring, and everything is fine. These are expected places for me, lines I can be comfortable inside. Did anyone really think I’d be stupid enough for the high dive at this point in my life?

Back in the lounge chair, sitting on a towel, I take out my notebook and start writing—just loose ideas that probably won’t go anywhere.

There are, so many words I always wanted to share, but I’ve been keeping them safe, tucked away from ridicule and shame. But now…

Something just won’t settle in my soul. It’s stirring to life. I look back at the high dive, and my heart starts to drum.

No one is in line. It’s time. I have to do it.

I snap the notebook shut and walk all the way around the pool. Feeing numb, detached from my body, I climb back up and walk again to the end of the board. Nothing about the view has changed, but this time, I bend my knees and ready myself to jump.

It will be sickening scary. My flesh will sting as I hit the water. Undoubtedly, I will look stupid. I will look up at the broken surface above me and be afraid for a moment that I won’t be able to get back to it.

And then? After I’ve climbed out and shaken the water from my ears? Maybe then it will be all right.

Maybe I’ll try something else I’ve long since talked myself out of. Maybe my friends will laugh but will also tell me something crazy things they’ve done too, and the sharing will stitch us closer. Maybe someone else will dare to take a chance too.

My feet lift, and I’m airborne.

Joy Nicholas

Substack: joynicholas.substack.com

Joy Nicholas is a mother of five, living in South Korea. She is at work on her first book, a memoir. You can connect with Joy on Instagram at @justyouraveragejoy