As I write this, I am flying in an aluminum cylinder somewhere high above the Indian Ocean.
My father served in the Australian Air Force during the Second World War. Whenever I fly, I remember his words: “There are no atheists at 30,000 feet.” I may not have a Japanese Zero fighter that fires a cannon at our plane like his generation, but his point of view remains valid. Flying is a calculated risk.
As a father myself, I'm taking the calculated risk of flying to Sydney for good reason. I want to spend Christmas with my children.
Risk and reward are as old as humanity. When we take calculated risks, we learn to overcome our fears to make life as enjoyable as possible.
As a young boy, I was very afraid of the sea and feared that the currents would take me from Sydney to New Zealand. But my father, the old aviator, promised me that there was a beautiful place out there beyond the crashing waves. And if I was brave enough and trusted him, he would take me there. He told me, “It’s a little dangerous, but it’s a lot of fun.”
He held my hand and began by showing me how to jump over the small waves that roll along Sydney's golden beaches. Then, as he held me in his firm grip, I learned to avoid the force of the foaming water by holding my breath and diving into that other world beneath the surging white wave. I had to take the risk and trust that the wave would wash over me and leave me unharmed when I emerged on the other side.
The biggest fear of all was the feeling that comes when the sea lifts your toes from the sand for the first time and you are literally overwhelmed. Trusting that you could survive beyond the waves, outside, in the deep water, well, it all took time.
But my father was patient. He helped me cross the sandbar. The place where the shallow water forces the waves to peak and hit you hardest. The place where your fears had to be tamed or you would be doomed to stay on the shore with the timid and fearful. Safe and secure, but not a full life.
As we swam beyond the sandbar, taking risks and controlling our fears, the power Mother Nature provides was there to be harnessed.
For me, bodysurfing in the waves was child's fun. I often failed while learning. The waves twisted and turned me like baggy underpants in a washing machine, ending with a nose full of water and shorts full of sand. The reward was hitting a wave that had salt water splashing off the chest like the bow wave on a poorly designed tugboat. I laugh with my brothers and my father all the time.
From deep water to grassy fields, I have had the great joy of being encouraged to play contact sports and feel fear. Smart coaches have taught me that it is natural to be afraid, but that you should never allow those fears to become your master.
Plato said, “You can learn more about a person in an hour of play than in a year of conversation.” When I completed a two-minute round of boxing against an opponent who wanted to knock me to the ground, I learned more about myself than I had in a year classroom. In that ring you had to make a conscious decision to run or raise your hands and defend yourself.
I wasn't a champion in any of these sports. That was never her intention. Participation prepared us for the challenges and fears that every journey in life must face.
I'm going back to Sydney, where both my parents and two beloved brothers are buried. When we surfed and played rugby as kids, we mistakenly thought our time together would never end. Although our trip brought great joy and we knew that life has risks, we all assumed we had more time. We were wrong.
Last summer a friend told me, “If our life is a game of golf, we’re on the back nine.” The problem is we don’t know whether we’re on the 12th or the 17th.”
I am deeply grateful for all the waves I have surfed that have gone wrong. For all the washing machine noises Mother Nature's powerhouse threw me through. I am grateful for the bruises, cuts, broken bones, fears, heartbreaks, life-affirming experiences and lifelong relationships that rugby has given me. It was so much more than the child holding his father's hand on that golden beach could have ever imagined.
That's why I will continue to take calculated risks and squeeze life's lemons one more time. I'm sure there's still a drop or two left in there.
In a few days I will go to the same beach where the old airman taught me to bodysurf and I hope to swim over the sandbar and into the deep water with my grown children. Free from gravity and beyond our depths. We enjoy being in a place where we learn life's most profound lessons.
[ Matt Williams: Rugby is in a bad state but our leadership plays dumb ]
So be brave and let your children play sports so that they can face fear and experience how it can be overcome. Let them fail, bruise, sprain, possibly get a scar or two, and squirt water up their nose. Then have her get back on her feet, rub her bruise, and encourage her to do it all again.
Life is far too short for our fears to determine the future of our children.
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