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  • Last year I took a trip to Marin County California that lasted about six days. It was absolutely beautiful; all of the trees and ferns and mountains and sunshine; the mist and the fog and the chill of the air coupled with the warmth streaming down from the sun in rays of perfect light. I did a lot of things on this trip and spent time with loved ones, making memories that I will try to always preserve and not adulterate based on my 'now feelings'. We laughed and lived and loved during that time we had and that is just that. Nothing more; nothing less.

    One of the adventures we had was going to the Inkwells that are under a well known bridge in Marin County. The Inkwells are small deep pools of clear and frigid water surrounded by a bank of jagged slippery rocks. One of the pools was easier to jump into than the other. We all jumped into this one, one at a time; one at a time getting our breaths knocked out of our chests by the sudden and severe drop in temperature as we hit the water. That was fun. There was another pool adjacent to this one that was much smaller on the surface, but much, much deeper. You couldn't tell that it was deeper; not from just looking at it, but it gave off that feeling of abyss-like depth. It also looked scary as hell. There was a huge tree trunk that took up a large part of the surface space, which meant it was taking up space you needed to utilize if you were to leap into the pool successfully. I wasn't going to do it. There were two girls, though, that were. They had been soaking up sun on the opposite banks when my small party of three had arrived. We watched them climb up to the top and peer over the edge and it. It freaked me out. They said that they had done it several times and assured us that this pool was considerably deeper than the rest. I was thinking that's all fine and good, but you have to clear the rock face that protrudes from the bank and make sure you land in the right place or you will hit tree or rock, neither of which could be a good thing. Crazy. These chicks were nuts, but I got a tinge of thrill when I wondered if I should try. My boyfriend at the time said he would. He was obviously insane too. So, he did it. That was three out of three. Should I do it? HELL NO. That's just stupid. I could hear my dad's voice telling me how stupid it would be. I could hear my own voice, only now I had several of them, and they were all telling me variations of "Dude, don't be an idiot. Just because they did it doesn't mean you can or should. You could die or be paralyzed. You could break your bones and shatter your world and everything you love over some stupid thrill. It's not worth it!!!"

    So, up I went, with second thoughts, third thoughts, and I peered over the edge. I think about times in my life when I was using drugs very heavily. I think about times when I held a shot in my hand that was at least three times more than I should even consider pushing. I think about times I peered over the edge and said, "Eff it." Was this different? Yes and no. It was different in the sense that this time I was sober and had been for quite some time. It was different because I cared about the consequences. I cared about making sure that I took care of myself and made good choices and considered the effects of my actions on the people in my life. But it was similar in the sense that everything in me said, "Don't!" Every fiber of me said to stop, but reached that place, the place where I was perched on the edge of wild abandon...and jumped.
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