I’m not a daredevil.  Well—not anymore, I’m not.  When I was a kid, I was up for almost any stupidity anyone could suggest.

And yet, when the grandkids arrived one day last week with a slackline to stretch out between two trees in my yard, I had to try it.  Had to.

I’m not a young man.  I’ve been trying to do the math in my head and as close as I can figure it, I passed two-thirds of a century old sometime in the last week or so.  I wasn’t going to let that stop me.

The Lovely Lady was worried about me, assuming I would be falling off the line at some point.  She was right to be worried.  I did fall off.  I was only a foot and a half off the ground, but…well—see the paragraph above about my age.

Still, she wasn’t so worried that she didn’t come out to snap a photo or two of the event.  I’m thinking that perhaps she wanted it for a talking point with the grandchildren later on in life.

“You see…this is the moment before your grandpa broke his hip and never walked again.  I told him he was too old for that kind of shenanigans.”

I didn’t break my hip, nor did I die.  I do have an observation or two about my first attempt at balancing on the slackline.

The first surprise for me was that my legs began to shake almost uncontrollably as I got further away from the anchor point (at the tree) and closer to the untethered center of the line.  The shaking was so violent it seemed that it might knock me off the line.

I kept moving my feet and went on a yard or so before losing my balance and dropping to the ground below.  As I let the kids take a turn while I recuperated from the initial experience, I asked them about the shaking and how to stop it.

“Oh, you can’t stop it,” they answered.  “It just goes away little by little.”

As I climbed on another time or two to embarrass myself further, I realized that the shaking did indeed lessen as I got used to walking on the strap.  I won’t say it went away altogether, but at least I didn’t feel like I was going to be dumped onto the ground below by it.

I found with a search online that the shaking is what is called a monosynaptic reflex.  The nerves going to my spinal cord register that my legs are not controlled in their movements as they would be on solid ground, so the nervous system moves the leg rapidly in the opposite direction.  This direction is quickly reversed again and again, resulting in an uncontrollable shaking that feels more like spasms than anything else.

Here’s the thing:  The brain really isn’t involved in this response.  One can’t control it by thinking about it, or by trying to move the legs differently.  While it’s true that eventually, the body figures out it’s not falling and slows down the reaction itself, for a while (an eternity, it seemed to me) my body was completely out of my control.

I don’t like being out of control.  I like to keep a firm grip on how I react to things. 

I want to be in charge.  And, not only on the slackline.

We all want to believe that we can be the captain of our ship, directing its prow across the waters—choosing the destination and speed at which we travel.  It has never been the case, but we like the pretense of being in charge anyway.

I’m reminded of the words the newly risen Savior said to the man whom He called The Rock (no—not that imposter from Hollywood) as they talked on the shore by the sea.

“I tell you the truth, when you were young, you were able to do as you liked; you dressed yourself and went wherever you wanted to go. But when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and others will dress you and take you where you don’t want to go.”  (John 21:18, NLT)

We’re told the words were intended to let Peter know how he would die, but they also remind all of us that we are not in control of the things we once imagined we were.

It’s a sobering thought. 

But, I learned another thing, there on that slackline the other day.  I learned that if I just kept working toward the goal—kept walking toward the other tree the line was tethered to, eventually I reached the point where I was no longer shaking and out of control.

As we move toward solid footing, our body recognizes the familiar sense of safety and the monosynaptic reflex action ceases.

Through. 

We go on through.  To solid ground.

If it feels to you like the shaking will never stop, don’t lose heart.

One foot ahead of the other, holding on to the safety line, we keep moving to solid ground.

And yes, illness and advancing years can mean the shaking and loss of control will last for what feels like a very long time.  And it can be terrifying.

We’re not home yet.

And this rope we’re balancing on here isn’t the end of our journey.

Solid ground is where our hope lies.

Rock solid.

Keep walking.  You’re not alone.

The grandkids are coming to visit again tomorrow.  I kind of hope they leave that slackline at home this trip.

I do like the solid ground, after all.

 

“You are old, Father William,” the young man said,
“And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head —
Do you think, at your age, it is right?”
(from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll)

“He lifted me out of the pit of despair,
    out of the mud and the mire.
He set my feet on solid ground
    and steadied me as I walked along.
He has given me a new song to sing,
    a hymn of praise to our God.”
(Psalm 40: 2-3a, NLT)

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2024. All Rights Reserved.