“Brooke! You can do it!” my dad yelled from below. I creeped forward toward the edge of the glacial rock. It seemed impossibly high. I was 5 years old, and I thought that if I jumped, I would surely die.

Shivering, I peeked over the cliff’s edge to try to spot my dad below. Where had he gone? I decided to abort mission. But as I was about to step back, my feet lifted off the ground. My limbs awkwardly dangled as my dad held me by my neon life jacket strap.

Before I could discern what had happened, my stomach dropped and my head popped up through the frigid water of the Pacific Northwest ocean.