When I was about 16 I had a conversation with my mom that went something like this:

Me: Mom, can I [insert ridiculous request here]?
Mom: No.
Me: But Mooo-ooom, Harmonie gets to do it!
Mom: Well, if Harmonie jumped off a bridge, would you want to do that too?
Me: Mom! Harmonie did jump off a bridge today. Right after I did.

Here in Oregon, where I grew up, the North Fork of the Santiam River was a huge summer attraction to my friends and I. It was cool and it was deep, just perfect for jumping off the overpass bridge.

I hadn’t been up there for years, but early this week Newt and I got the itch for some summer fun. We made arrangements with some friends to meet up at one of the most beautiful places on the Santiam in Oregon – Three Pools.

On the drive up, I choose not to stop at the bridge (because that is dangerous! what was I thinking?!). Maybe on the way back, I think, we’ll stop and take a look.
We arrive and I look around. It shouldn’t be a surprise, but it is. After all these years, nothing has changed.

The weather is cooler than I had hoped for – I’m not sure if the thermometer will even crawl past 70º, but that doesn’t stop the kids from jumping into the cold mountain water.

I’m not at all sure I want to brave that cold water, but eventually I give in. I wade in freezing-cold chest-high water (screaming like a little girl) for an awkward photo op:

And then run right back out for my towel.

There I sit, with the other mamas, talking about homeschooling and parenting, recipes and books while the kids have their adventures.

I realize something as I sit there. Something has changed about this place.
Me.
The last time I was here, I was young and fearless with the world at my feet. I was living dangerously close to the edge, desperately wanting to jump into my life even if it meant a cold swim against a hard current.
Now, as a woman in my thirties, I’m living a different sort of life than the one I may have imagined at 16. I’d rather lounge in the sun, take my time, enjoy stillness when and where I can find it.
My 16 year old self would probably find me boring.
I would tell her not to confuse adrenaline with happiness.
She wouldn’t listen, choosing instead to learn everything the hard way.
I look over at my own daughter and hold out hope that she will be different – that when she comes to the bridges in her life, she’ll at least look before she leaps.

My 16 year old self laughs at me for the thought and I choose not to stop by the bridge on the way home either.