Journey, my six-year-old granddaughter, gripped my hand tightly as we walked into the slide park. She had been excited all week, pointing at pictures online, talking about which slide she wanted to try first. But now, standing at the entrance, staring up at the towering maze of colors and twists, her fingers squeezed mine a little harder.
"Wow," she whispered.
She didn’t move toward the slides right away. Instead, she made her way to the little kids' area—a familiar playground-style slide and a climbing web. It was her way of testing the waters, making sure she could trust herself before taking on something bigger.
Then, the moment came. She grabbed a mat and picked the yellow slide—the one that seemed the least intimidating. I watched her climb the stairs, each step slower than the last. When she reached the top, she froze.
From below, I could see her tiny hands gripping the railing, her eyes scanning the long, steep slide ahead of her. Then, she turned and looked for me. Even from a distance, I could see the fear written all over her face.
“I want to go back down,” she called out, her voice small.
Other kids brushed past her, some barely stopping before launching themselves down the slide. Laughter and excited squeals filled the air. Journey pressed herself against the railing, unsure.
I didn’t push. Instead, we waited.
And then, something happened.
A little girl, about Journey’s age, stopped beside her at the top. “It’s really fun,” she said with a grin. “You should try it!”
Journey didn’t answer right away, but I saw something shift. She watched another child go down—then another. And suddenly, she wasn’t gripping the railing as tightly.
She sat down on her mat. She grabbed the handles. She took a deep breath.
And then—she let go.
For a split second, there was silence. And then—laughter. The kind that bubbles up when joy overpowers fear.
When she reached the bottom, she jumped up, her face beaming. “That was awesome!” she shouted. And just like that, the fear that had gripped her moments before was gone.
For the rest of the afternoon, she didn’t just go down that one slide—she went down every single slide in the park. At least 40 times.
The Lesson
As I watched Journey race up the stairs and launch herself down slide after slide, I realized something: fear only lasts until we do the thing that scares us.
At the top of that yellow slide, she had every reason to turn back. It was high. It was fast. It was unknown. But the moment she saw someone else do it, the moment she allowed herself to believe she could, everything changed.
How often do we stand at the top of our own “yellow slide” in life—hesitant, gripped by fear, tempted to turn back? Whether it’s changing careers, setting a boundary, or stepping into something unfamiliar, we feel the fear first. And like Journey, we often need to warm up, observe, or hear a little encouragement before we take the leap.
But once we do? That’s where freedom is.
Journey walked into the slide park unsure and afraid. She left fearless. Not because the slides got smaller, but because she got braver.
And that’s the power of doing hard things.
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