If you have ever spent some time in the terrain park on the mountain you know what this is about. If you haven't, keep reading - this is about your life off the mountain too. My snowboarding daughter taught me how to jump in the beginner terrain park. Right after the jump is a small dent and then a slight elevation that looks like the Nuckles on a fisted hand. Right after these Nuckles it slopes down.
You need enough momentum to land on the downward-slope. You don't want so much momentum that you completely wipe out at the landing. It took me innumerable runs to gather some "data", to explore what happens at what speed. You can imagine how funny I looked to these pro snowboarders and skiers who " just nailed" every jump.
Somewhere between the jarring pain when landing or rather thumping down on the nuckles and the "whoa" armwaving help screeming too much mometum "landing" I got a glimmer of the sweet spot, complete ease and joy - the zone.
I learned that I need to want to jump: let my knees and hip joints fold and jump off with clear intention, rather than letting the jump take me in the air and gravity drop me down. I saw the jump , looked past it, leaned into the ground in order to push off. Just like a tennis ball I thought- I have to embrace gravity in order to enjoy the flight.
That's how fear gave way for curiosity and curiosity became play.
This balance of listening and acting, the leaning into the movement and looking up and out happens every day and in every season. Every new project, every new challenge and task, every new activity we are offered to learn- all have a jump, a gap, a knuckle and a slope to land on.