I’m hovering four stories in the air on a little blue platform. A soft wind begins to blow. I’d usually welcome it on a steamy summer day like this, but not at the moment.

Instead of cooling me off, the breeze causes everything around me to sway, increasing my terror.

As my pulse races, I hear a giggle from my dauntless nine-year-old, not far away.

“I dare you to cross that rope,” he taunts. “Come on, Mom! I did it, and I didn’t even have anything to hold onto!”

Little stinker.

I’d like to say I gathered up my courage and crossed the rope … but instead I crossed my arms and went down a safer way, determined not to be pressured into something so unpleasant by a rascally little boy!

On the way down, I watched him descend the four stories too, zig-zagging through all the obstacles at lightening speed with not a care in the world.

“Hey Mom, watch me!” he crowed. “I’m gonna do every single one on every level.” And he did.

I was astounded.

As I watched him navigate his way through the balance beams, platforms, ropes, and webs, something happened to my heart.

I wondered … When did this happen? When did this independent, fearless kid come to live at my house? Wasn’t he just a babe in arms a few days ago?

Then I wondered … Why can’t I be like that?

And then …

I let go.

His courage gave me courage. And I wasn’t afraid anymore.

I climbed the steps all the way back up to the fourth story. And this time my knees weren’t knocking.

I took the dare. I crossed the rope with no hands. It was fun!

To his surprise, my little man had a shadow the rest of the way down: ME! I did every obstacle with lightening speed, too.

I didn’t know I could do that. I unlocked potential I didn’t know was there.

How did I do that?

I let go.

It’s back-to-school time. But this year is different. I sent my youngest to kindergarten yesterday.

No more babies at my house.

No more rocking chairs.

No more preschoolers.

No more diapers or strollers or high chairs.

Just “big kids.”

As I put my boyos on the bus yesterday I felt an all-too-familiar knot in my stomach.

Stress. Fear. Fear of the unknown.

Just like the platform.

And now I’m asking myself … Can I learn to let go?

If only navigating the waters of parenthood were as easy as learning to overcome my fear of heights!

It’s a journey, I guess.

One day at a time.

After the boys left, I sat at the piano and played and sang for an hour or so–something I haven’t done in quite a while.

I found some old sheet music from Cirque du Soleil, and the words from a particular song rang all too true. If you’ve never heard it, I encourage you to listen!

The words are fantastic, but the melody is even more hauntingly beautiful.

Let me fall 
Let me climb 
There´s a moment when fear 
And dream must collide 

Someone I am 
Is waiting for courage 
The one I want 
The one I will become 
Will catch me 

So let me fall 
If I must fall 
I won´t heed your warnings 
I won´t hear them 

All I ask 
All I need 
Let me open whichever 
Door I might open 

Let me fall 
If I fall 
Through the phoenix may 
Or may not rise 

I will dance so freely 
Holding on to no one 
You can hold me only 
If you too will fall 
Away from all these 
Useless fears and chains 

Someone I am 
Is waiting for my courage 
The one I want 
The one I will become 
Will catch me 

So let me fall 
If I must fall 
I won´t heed your warnings 
I won´t hear 

Let me fall 
If I fall 
There´s no reason 
To miss this one chance 
This perfect moment 
Just let me fall