It’s a universal truth that how we imagine events and how they actually go down almost never match.

Another universal truth is that your first summer home from college is brutal. Add a monotonous job, an angsty long distance relationship, and too much time at home, and brutal became unbearable. I got so bored I started counting calories daily, just to have something to do: could I eat only 1,800? I got my belly button pierced, driven mostly by boredom but also partly by mother-directed frustration.

I sat in a cubicle, missed my new friends at school, and counted the hours and days. I filed real estate documents. I alphabetized. I transfered electronic records. I filed some more. I don’t remember how or when the list re-emerged… but when it did, I clung to it. I decided in my lonely cubicle that I would check off #2: “Go cliff-diving.”

This list has often been my life line back to control. I can’t always control my relationships, my health, or my responsibilities. But I can cross things off my list. Few of the things on the list are experiences I’d ever have normally. Pursuing them adds a shot of agency to my life that I crave. I am actively choosing to do this, and nobody else would do it for me. I can’t control where I’m at 19, but I can dive off a cliff.

I feel most alive when I’ve decided to attack a moment nobody else is giving me, or that I’d never get again. It’s empowering to dedicate my time to this. I’m here. I’m alive. I’m in control.

The early lines on my list are all like cliff diving: they’re heady, idealistic, adrenaline-infused plans. I had always wanted to jump off a cliff. Of course, this is what I pictured:

Saturated skies, red sunburned rock. Me: tan, thin, fabulous & carefree, surrounded by tan, thin, fabulous friends. We were naturally in an exotic place like Ibiza or Italy or Greece. Why? Because we were fabulous, laughing, and adventuring.

The “cliff” was not in Ibiza. It was tucked instead in the woods along a trail; you clambered through mossy underbrush, fragrant with pine sap, to a small rocky pool. I had found a small, locally known watering hole north of Seattle that was well-established enough to assuage pesky parental concerns. For my companion, I knew I could only call one person: Peter Bender.

Oh Peter Bender. Peter Bender is a man of many things. For years he only owned threadcare Iron Maiden t-shirts, and he wore men’s Lululemon way before it was okay. He listens to heavy metal, but is also an excellent baker. He sported nipple rings and a kilt, but drove a Subaru. He’s slightly cross-eyed, with one eye wandering when he gets tired. He was the kid who would ask people to dare him to do things for money. When nobody would, he would dare himself and do it for free. He is ridiculous, utterly authentic, and a great friend. I knew he’d jump off a cliff without asking questions.

Driving north out of Seattle felt like breathing fresh air. I was taking control of my summer, living on my own terms for once. I couldn’t control the number of time zones between me and my boyfriend. I couldn’t control my job filing papers. Let’s be honest, I couldn’t control my calories. But I could jump off a cliff.

… or rather, that rocky outcropping.

I was not surrounded by fabulous friends. The other pond occupants were the closest thing Washington has to rednecks who waded in the small pool nursing beers.

I wasn’t tan or thin, either. That summer was the heaviest I’ve ever been besides studying abroad (which doesn’t count – you’re supposed to gain weight abroad or you’re doing it wrong). I was wearing a practical sports bra and yellow Five shorts that don’t do women many favors on a good day.

Ooooff

Ooooooooooofffff

Standing on the rocky ledge above the pool, I wasn’t carefree either. My stomach shuddered like it knew my feet were about to do something stupid. But I jumped, hitting the cool, silty, green water of the pond. Peter and I each jumped three to four times, taking pictures and shivering in the fern colored shade. Then we headed home, dripping all the way back to his car. Leaving the sun-adled pond, I didn’t feel victorious. I was just content.

The summer ended, the job ended, and my boredom ended. Pretty quickly thereafter my relationship ended too, and I’d lose more control than I thought possible.

But that quiet, sunny pond was a refuge, just for an afternoon. I’m proud of the dramatic, chubby, unhappy girl who jumped off that “cliff.” She was better than the girl in Ibiza. Probably.