Are you afraid to jump?

In 1992 I took a leap of faith and booked a one-way flight to London. I had little money and no real plans - my main motivators being freedom, independence and personal growth.

My parents freaked...

Dad: What are you going to do when you get there?
Me: I'll stay with my friend Tarls until I get on my feet.
Mum: How are you going to support yourself?
Me: I'll get a job.
Dad: Why don't you wait till you find a job first and then leave?
Me: I've already booked my ticket - I'm going. Don't worry - I'll find a job and I'll be okay.

And within 2 weeks, I jumped.

The following year I received an invitation to my (then) boyfriend's friend's wife's cousin's wedding... in Jamaica (as you do). Flights to Montego Bay ex London were cheap so how could I refuse?

Our cultural wedding experience was followed by a 2-week adventure that circumnavigated the island. We took advice from locals and ended up at Rick's Cafe in Negril, which is now famous for its high cliff-top jumping platforms that challenge thrill seekers to plunge into the turquoise Caribbean Sea below.

Back then, we were the only non-locals within cooee of this site - and I, the only female. Testosterone filled the air with dares and backward triple somersault jumps. I watched in anxious awe.

My companion urged me to jump assuring me that I'd love it. Instead of starting at the lower jump points - I went straight to the top of the highest platform (35ft /10.7m) .

I looked down at what seemed to be 5kms (3.1mi) below and retreated. My companion continued to jump and climb, jump and climb, jump and climb - he was like a lab rat on speed. With each plunge he assured me that I could do it, and I'd love it.

This immediately took me back to a time when I was a child at my Aunt's beach house. All my cousins would jump from a sandy cliff height of about 1.5m (5ft) onto the soft sand below. Many times I stood at the top with the intention to jump, but I just couldn't do it. Ever.

So here I am (I could hear myself thinking), I have an opportunity to have a breakthrough. Make up for all the little jumps I missed out on as a child. Do it Grace, do it.

My companion jumped in once more and from the water below called up to me, "Come on Grace - you'll loooooove it! Just jump like a tin soldier - keep your feet straight like a pin".

Before I knew it, I had launched myself from the platform.

Utterly terrified I heard a blood-curdling scream echoing all around me. It was mine. I felt myself accelerate through the fall to a point where I hit warp speed - the fastest ever free fall.

In my terror, I had become completely paralysed. I could not straighten my legs and I hit the water with the thud of my butt. It was like landing on a sandpit - from 5kms high.

What followed was years of pain and spinal complications arising from the inability to sit with good posture - what's worse was that my favourite hideout in the guise of a movie cinema, was now a torture chamber. Not a fitting reward for my bravery, I thought.

As time went on and the pain persisted, I began to view my jump as much less courageous and more likely stupid. Why do we do that with 20/20 hindsight? If I'd have had a successful breakthrough and conquered my fear of jumping - then I'd have been a hero. Instead, I deemed myself a loser.

Since then, I have become increasingly afraid to jump - both literally and metaphorically. My fear of perpetuating a 'loser outcome' has kept me safe, but it has also eroded my youthful spirit of optimism and possibility - the same spirit that had me buy that one-way ticket to London in the first instance.

Life continually tempts us with opportunities, presents us with challenges and dares us to take risks. If we are not jumping, are we passively paralysing ourselves and asphyxiating our spirit?

Right now I am on the precipice. I have so many projects that I have yearned to manifest, but my fear of jumping has kept them safely locked away in the pipeline, on the back burner and when I have money, energy and time.

With only two days of 2013 left, perhaps now is the time to prepare my chute and get ready to jump in 2014. Who's with me?

Until our next cuppa, think about where in life you are afraid to jump - and start packing your chute too.

- Grace xo

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G'day Mussels!

Hello gorgeous people.

After travelling over 3,000km in the south of France, we managed to compress ten days worth of itinerary into six.

We are stuffed. Although that might have had more to do with our last lunch stop than the journey. Or perhaps a little of both.

As we walked through the picturesque UNESCO heritage listed wine village of St. Emilion, we could see people tucking into giant black cauldrons overflowing with Moules Marinière (black mussels swimming in a delicious warm soup of white wine, garlic and a dash of cream - glorious!).

The last time Patrick and I shared this experience together was five years ago in Paris and we've fantasised about it ever since.

Pat was 'unfaithful' in his last trips to France and indulged without me (very jealous). We'd talked about doing it again however our restricted time schedule proved too demanding to indulge.

I questioned the authenticity of eating moules in St. Emilion seeing it's not exactly on the water. Yet in this stunningly beautiful village, we found it impossible to resist the intoxicating aromas. I convinced myself that being less than 100km from the ocean was a near enough and we sat down to succumb to the overwhelming temptation.

Verdict? To die for.

This culinary triumph was washed down with a glass of St. Emilion, which I wouldn't ordinarily marry the two together. Red wine and seafood is often considered a 'no no', yet I continued to breach wine and food etiquette in favour of what I really wanted.

It takes courage to go against the grain. Even at a restaurant. Ordering dessert before mains (Pat), coffee with your cheese (Pat's dad), red wine with seafood when you're 100km from the water (me). However sometimes you have to flex your muscles and choose what you want, despite it being 'wrong'.

We had a delicious lunch and a memorable day... and I have little regard for what the waiter had to say.

Until tomorrow, be brave and flex your muscles - choose what you want!

Grace xx

ps. The title of this blog is what Patrick often says when I get home from the gym. It's a cute pet greeting and I thought it appropriate.

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Fringe benefits

Not sure if you know, but I'm studying French at the moment. I'm off to France in July to host a tour of non-riding New Zealanders at the one and only Le Tour de France - I'm so excited!

I've been watching French films, practising French phrases and researching French properties for sale. I'm hooked.

This brings me to my hairstyle.

I love bobs (hairstyles, not breasts - read it again). My mum was a hairdresser and I had a keen eye for stylish do's and in her era of beehives and French rolls, the bob really did rock.

I've had bobs at various stages throughout my life and I have to say, I'm always happier when I'm donning one. They're short enough to be practical and long enough to feel feminine. Perfectly me.

I went one step further with my latest 'do and had a very short fringe cut (well, actually, I cut my own fringe... then had the hairdresser tidy it up). People have commented saying it takes courage, it was a gutsy move, they wish they could do that to their hair and so on. But truly, what's the big deal? It's only hair - it'll grow back!

Then it got me thinking...

Maybe I am a lot braver than I think I am. My decision to have a bob with a short fringe was primarily a practical one; less hair equals less products, reduced washing and drying time and no-frills maintenance. Too easy. But yet for some, the benefits do not outweigh the risks.

If you (or your partner) have been held back by fear when it comes to your ideal hairdo - take it from me, the risks are worth taking. If it all goes pear-shaped, so what? It will grow back (BTW when I lived in London, mine went mushroom-shaped and I became known as Champignon, which I think is kind of cute... and French). Worse case scenario - get a wig!

By being 'brave', I've got a practical, easy to manage hairdo that I love... and the fact that it looks très chic is a bonus... one might say, is a fringe benefit. I know, I know.... I know.

Until tomorrow,

Grace :-)

ps. I want to acknowledge two amazing and SUPER-brave women who did The World's Greatest Shave this year - Marilyn who dyed her hair green and Nikki who did a 'Sinead O'Connor' and lopped off all her dreads to go completely bald - you girls are amazing!