How I came to be in Korea, Part 2: Why

First published on Facebook September 9, 2009:

On the first of August of this year, my father and I went on an outdoor adventure together to a place in the Texas Hill Country called “Cypress Valley Canopy Tours:” an outdoors sports entertainment venue. Participants fly through trees suspended from strong cables, an activity colloquially known as “ziplining.” Once a group has successfully completed the general zipline tour, members can then choose to go through the “Cypress Challenge,” a zipline ropes course suspended forty feet above ground. My father and I opted to try the challenge.

The challenge course is made of twelve elements, or sets, of obstacles ranging in difficulty from medium hard to hardest. For example, a medium element might be a “tight rope” with two horizontal ropes that are used as handles and attached by a series of shorter vertical ropes, resembling a rope footbridge. Though participants can still fall off of the element, the addition of the many vertical ropes along the way give this challenge the feel of a safety net. One of the hardest elements is the “Ship’s Challenge,” an open tight rope without any horizontal “handles,” only three long vertical ropes spaced ten feet apart from each other. I wasn’t brave enough to try the “Ship’s Challenge,” so I opted for the safety of the handled tight rope. When I finished that challenge, however, I wasn’t satisfied. Where was the adventure in knowing that I would be “safe” and virtually unable to fall off the element?

Among the ten other elements is the “Hourglass,” made of three horizontal ropes, two starting on the bottom and one on the top; by the end of the challenge, the two bottom ropes end on the top, with the single rope at the bottom, forming a horizontal “x.” The element starts out easy, but gets more challenging as one progresses. The participant must step out on only one bottom rope, grasp the top rope, and lean forward as much as possible. As he journeys further into the challenge, one bottom rope travels up and meets the top one about chest high, where the participant can grasp both ropes. In the middle of the “x,” he must let go of one of his ropes, at the same time stepping down on that same rope in order to finish. He then turns and faces the end of the challenge, grasps the top ropes one in each hand, and nearly walks upright the rest of the way. As I watched my father try this element, I knew it would be difficult to traverse. But I also knew that I didn’t want to leave never having tried simply because it was hard. I wanted to see if it was something I could do.

I was very confident as I stepped out on the element. I faced out towards the trees with my feet pointing sideways instead of forward, moving first my right and then my left limbs. One guide was stationed on the platform at the end of the “Hourglass,” where my father and two other participants waited. They were all encouraging me as I kept going, but Dad reminded me that this was the easy part. “If you can believe this,” he called out, “you’re halfway there. You’re in the middle.” I was right at the point where I needed to drop the second rope that I held and step out onto it. “I don’t know if I can do this, guys,” I screamed. “I don’t think I can make it!” I stood there, knuckles white and arms locked, unsure if I could take another step. Still I faced out toward the trees and not towards the end of the element. I stayed there for minutes, trying to decide what to do. I was paralyzed with the uncertainty of my next move.

In my mind, the challenge became too much for me. I finally let go and let the safety harness and tether suspend me from the ground. I could see the single rope that I needed to stand on in order to finish the element, yet now it was much harder to try to step onto it because I was sitting instead of standing. As I have little upper body strength, it would be difficult to pull myself to a standing position. The guide suggested I rest for a moment before trying to get back up again. Alternately, I rested then tried to pull up, then rested again. I tried three or four times unsuccessfully to get back onto the element. Finally, the guide came out to try to help, but only managed to help me do a self-rescue, pulling myself hand-over-hand on the safety line to the platform. I made it safely to the end and safely out of the course, but I regret not finishing the “Hourglass.”

My father told me that I surprised him with doing the more difficult challenge. He was proud of me for trying, but I think it was a mistake to let go of the ropes on the “Hourglass.” I didn’t finish because I gave up; I acquiesced to the pressure of uncertainty, merely choosing what was easiest. But if I had endured—if I had taken my eyes off of the now and looked to the near future at the end of the “Hourglass”—I might have found the strength to continue. I wanted to try the “Hourglass” to see what I was capable of. Either, I really am not capable of it, or I stopped before I really knew the answer to that. The next time I take the challenge course, I will find the answer because I am determined to find a way to finish strong.

Going to Korea for me is like getting on the “Hourglass” element one more time. It may seem easy at first, but it will get much more difficult. It is something I have never done before, something without a safety net. It is exhilarating, exciting, and adventurous. And if I don’t succeed at first, I am determined to find a way to finish strong. I could stay at home, in the safety net of familiarity. But that would be like staying only on the handled tight rope. There’s almost no way to fall. I want to see if I am capable of doing something like this: to live on my own in a foreign country and to depend on those around me—those back home as well as friends I meet in Korea—for support. I feel as though I am up for the challenge. I want to see what I can do.