FireWalker

If you check out my Twitter profile @VickyAkins, you’ll see this bio:  “@Midliferoadtrip travel, writer and marketing chick. Avid cook & baker, & Fire Walker Extraordinaire.”  I get a lot of questions about that last one.  “Did you really do it?  Is that just a metaphor? What did it feel like? How hot was it?” But my personal favorite is “Why in the hell would you do that?”  My answer is always “Why not?”

My nature does not lean towards the adventurous side.  On the contrary, I consider myself a big wimp.  For example, my husband’s idea of a great time is pitching a tent somewhere in critter infested woodland and roughing it for a few days.  I, on the other hand feel no need to revert back to a lifestyle that our ancestors worked so hard to improve upon.  It seems downright disrespectful to shun all the great modern conveniences they’ve developed just so we can cook over a fire and pee in the woods.  No sir, I intend to show my gratitude by doing my ‘fire cooking over a gas stove or barbeque in my back yard. As for peeing in the woods, I prefer my toilet paper sans the tree sap and moss.  So looking for extreme activities is not normally my cup of tea.

Our invitation to this event was sheer serendipity.  A friend called offering free tickets to a motivational speaker’s conference because I had recently begun a new & unfamiliar career. Not until we were on the plane and I was reading the brochure he’d sent, did I see the ominous paragraph announcing the activity that concluded the evening.  I read it once, then again to be sure, then a third time just to verify I wasn’t delusional.  In my calmest tone, counting on my husband’s usual ‘filter’ when it came to my voice, I said, “Hmmm..at the end of the first night we all walk across hot coals.”  Cringing, I waited for his response. “Cool,” he said without so much as a glance in my direction. Relieved that his ‘wife silencer; was still intact, I relaxed knowing he hadn’t heard a word of it.

When you arrive at the conference, you are given a piece of paper with instructions to write your fears on it and then told to toss it into a fire and let it go.  A nice symbolic gesture, I thought. The next several hours are spent whipping a crowd of thousands into a collective positive emotional frenzy.  Music is blared at concert volume; people are singing, clapping, dancing and hugging strangers. Instructions are given for changing thought processes and expectations. Changing mindsets and expanding possibilities are the topic of the evening. It’s loud and overwhelming but you can’t help but get caught up in the spirit of enthusiasm.  Even my husband was enjoying himself until the instructions came for the fire walk we would all take. My husband’s eyes grew wide with disbelief when he turned to look at me. I could only timidly mutter; “I told you on the plane…” He shook his head as if to say ‘no, I’m not doing it.’  Another few hours went by as we were all mentally prepared. ‘Power words’ and ‘mind over matter’ were discussed.  Holding visuals of walking across cool moss was suggested.  If ever there had been a moment when I doubted my own sanity, it was then.

When the time came we were partnered with a stranger and sent outside where several 12 foot long beds of hot coals waited for us. As we walked out, I noticed that many people stayed behind, choosing not to participate, but my husband stayed next to me, still looking at me like he was unsure. It was after 11 p.m., so the field where this took place was lit up like 9 miniature runways. Both excitement and fear filled the air. Although we were supposed to stay with our unfamiliar partner, somehow in the crowd I lost him and my husband.  Before I knew it, I was herded into a line of 5 other people standing in front of one of the fiery paths.  To my surprise, I really wasn’t frightened, but I think it’s because I was seriously annoyed at having been separated from my husband.  I thought about how this was supposed to be a ‘fresh start for our life’. It was something I’d wanted us to do together to represent the new beginning we’d found in each other after both of us had come from bad marriages.  I was a bit sad to find myself alone in a crowd of thousands but I knew this was a step I had to take even if by myself. 

Within minutes I found myself facing a glowing path of heat laid out twelve feet in front of me. Without having any particular thoughts, I heard someone yell "Go” and off I went.  It seemed only seconds and I was being stopped on the other side and told to wipe my feet.  Amidst the pats on the back from strangers, I looked around for a familiar face, but found none.  My heart was racing and so was my brain. Had I missed it? I hadn’t felt a thing, not an inkling of heat.  Surely I’d strayed off the hot path seconds after my first step. Another conference attendee patted me on the back. “Congratulations!” he said. I just stood there in disbelief, watching others walk the path. Dozens of them, all smiles, hopped easily across the hot coals

When I found Max, he was still pretty wired from his own walk. As we left the conference we shared our stories. The experience was both surreal and exciting yet a little less life changing than it was hyped up to be. The one thing I did take away from it was an intense sense of accomplishment and pride. I did something I never thought possible and it helped me re-evaluate my capabilities.  It also served as a reference for when I’m letting fear of failure get the best of me.  I walked on fire and if I can do that, who knows what other possibilities await in the future.  That’s a great memory to call on.  Besides, now I can forever call myself a “Fire Walker” and that’s a pretty cool title to have.