You stand on the bow of the ship, looking out into the clear blue water. As far as your eye can see, there is blue.
You squint off into the distance, trying to make out the place where the sea swallows up the sky. The water around the boat move in gentle waves. Not from a storm or anything ominous, but just from the natural movement of the tides and the fact that water rarely stands still.
There are others down there, swimming and splashing, soaking it all in. They call up to you, saying that the water is fine. They are having the time of their lives. They say you'll love it. They beg you to join them.
You want to jump. You want to feel the water for yourself. You want to float and splash like the others.
You squeeze the muscles in your legs, and even though you are like a statue, you can feel the potential energy of motion that is created, preparing to push you up into the air.
You hesitate. You wonder what will happen when you simply let go. What if you hit the water and sink to the bottom? What if you can't get back in the boat. What if you just don't like it down there.
Everyone who is already doing the thing you want to be doing seems equal parts companion and competitor. What if there isn't enough room in the water for you?
What if the others on the boat think you're ridiculous? They all seem happy enough to sit on the observation deck, staying warm and dry. Maybe that could be enough for you. But something about that doesn't feel quite right. The water looks so inviting, with all its adventure and opportunity.
You can't have it both ways. You have to choose. You get to choose.
The only way you'll know is if you jump.