Apt Metaphor.

Today I taught a young girl how to jump off stuff.

She's slight, reserved, and easily spooked.

There was a structure that she scrambled onto, but then didn't want to just scramble off of again. She asked for my hand so that she could stand up. Wobbly and hesitant, she straightened her legs and stood.

She practiced standing for a while, sometimes venturing to almost let go of my hand.

Then she said she wanted to jump off. She still held my hand and she plopped down.

She climbed back on.

Again, the shaky standing, the hand-holding, the plop.

We did it a few times. Every time I had to remind her that she had just done it, that she knew she could.

Finally she let go of my hand. "Can I jump?" I said yes. She wanted me to have arms ready to catch her. She plopped off again, but this time on her own.

You would not have believed her grin.

Climbed up, got ready, waited for me, jumped off.

Same grin.

Climbed up, got ready, told me to put my arms down. Jumped.

Climbed up, needed my hand, let go, jumped.

Climbed up, pointed me to back up but with my arms ready, jumped.

Climbed up, pointed me to stack back but with my arms ready, jumped.

Climbed up, needed my hand, held on, and jumped off the other side.

Climbed up, held my hand, jumped off the other side.

Climbed up, let go of my hand, jumped off the other side.

Jump. Climb. Jump. Climb.

On her face was a touching mix of fear, happiness, and determination.

She didn't know how it would go each time she climbed up, but she always asked for what she needed to feel safe. Then she jumped.

Right.

Got it.