Kiersten Roy

What the heck was I thinking??

I looked down 30 feet below at the Adriatic Sea waves lapping against the rocks. Everyone around me was yelling, “Do it!”, but I felt as if there was a physical force holding me back.

There was no way I was about to launch my body off this cliff. Absolutely not. And yet…I had to.

Thirty minutes earlier, I’d been sunbathing on the rocky platforms of Dubrovnik City Beach – this incredible spot literally built into the cliffs of Croatia next to a bar called Buža. It had that perfect local vibe, nothing like what you’d picture as a “typical beach.”

A friend I was traveling with asked if I wanted to try cliff jumping, so naturally, we started easy – a 3-foot drop into the water. Even that gave me butterflies. But I managed it. It was cute, fun. Exactly what you do on a summer vacation in Europe.

Then a nearby beachgoer mentioned there was a bigger cliff around the corner. Curiosity got the best of us, so we wandered over and watched as other travelers – solo backpackers, couples, groups of friends – launched themselves off one by one.

“Should we try it?”

“Sure, why not?”

It’s always easy to commit to something…until you’re standing at the edge faced with reality.

As I stood there trying to decide whether or not to take on this 30-foot monster, I remembered something I’d seen just a few minutes earlier. An elderly woman – she had to be in her 70s – had jumped off that little 3-foot ledge I’d just done. She was enjoying an afternoon with her grandkids and moved with an ease that felt free and light. But what struck me wasn’t that she was doing it despite her age – it was that she seemed young in a way most elderly people I knew weren’t. She had this spirit, this aliveness. She was fully in the moment, and you could tell.

And standing on that 30-foot cliff, I thought: “If I want to be like that when I’m her age, I have to jump now.”

Something in me just intuitively knew that if I didn’t take this risk now, maybe I never would. One skipped opportunity leads to another, and another. And then what? I’d get to 80 years old having missed so many paths, so many chances for something different.

So I jumped.

When I tell you my stomach shot into my throat as I leaped off that rock, I’m not joking. The water came up fast, and then I was under – way under, sinking deeper than I expected (apparently that’s what happens when you jump from 30 feet). I think my contact lenses even got messed up.

When I surfaced, everyone was cheering. I felt this rush of pride mixed with disbelief that I’d actually done it. The water was warm, which was nice, but I just wanted to get back to the rocks because, honestly, I hate treading water.

But I’d done it.

And then – because apparently I’m someone who needs to prove things to herself – I climbed back up and jumped a second time. I was just as scared. It’s not like doing it once dissolved all my fear. But it made the reality of it a little easier to face.

That cliff-jumping experience was a little over two years ago now, but the memory still lives with me. I look back on that choice, and I know it was a defining moment in shaping who I am today.

Sure, some might think it’s not that big of a deal. It’s just a cliff jump, right?

But it was a big deal. Because as I sit here writing this, I’m facing another “do it scared” moment – this time it’s moving to France and starting over again. And, at times, I find myself asking the same question: “What the heck am I doing?”

The difference is, I’ve stood on the edge before. I’ve felt the fear and jumped anyway. And while I’m still scared now and have no idea what the future holds, I know that when I’m 80 years old, I’ll still be jumping off cliffs.