Feel the Fear

On a recent trip to Vermont, my husband and I had some time on our hands and decided to try ziplining. I had heard several great stories from friends about how much fun they had ziplining, so I was excited!

The practice run, which was about twenty feet long and ten feet off the ground, was a piece of cake. Imagine my surprise when I got onto the first real platform, looked down, and froze like a scared rabbit. Literally. I was shaking all over and my mouth was dry. To demonstrate how safe you are when you’re hooked into the saddle, one of the guides said: “Try this”. With feet planted on the platform, he put his weight into the saddle, leaned back into thin air, and let go of the rope. Then, with a huge grin on his face, he threw his arms out to his sides as if to say “Look Ma, no hands!” Hair prickled at the back of my neck. The last words out of my mouth before I completely lost the power of speech were “I’m not doing that”.

Everyone zipped off to the next platform until only the guide and I remained. I thought to myself: “You’ve kayaked with alligators; you can certainly do this”. I grabbed the line, but my arms and hands felt so weak I could barely hold onto it (especially problematic, as this particular “canopy adventure” required hand braking and rappelling). It became apparent that much as I wanted to, my body was not going to let me do this. The guide asked if I would like to go tandem with him. I tried to say “yes, please” but could only stutter a few meaningless noises. Finally I nodded my head vigorously and we took off.

Once on the next platform, I concluded that I wasn’t having fun yet. The guide told me the zips would continue to get longer, faster, and higher, and he offered me the option of taking the “escape zip”. I eagerly accepted. He radioed someone that he had “an evac”, and a minute later (after one more short zip) I was safe on the ground. I’ll never forget his kindness and compassion as he waited with me until the van picked me up.

As we rode back to the station, I stammered a question to the van driver about how I could kayak with alligators, so why couldn’t I do this? He said that some people reacted differently to various types of stimuli, and the only way you could know how you would react was to try it. He told me I should be proud of myself for trying it. Another sweet guy.

I learned a few things that day. First, the human body’s fight or flight response is an amazingly powerful thing. Second, I’m not one of those people who thrive on an adrenaline rush, especially if it involves heights. Third, sometimes “feel the fear and do it anyway” is not the best answer.

As a project manager, I’ve worked on projects that simply did not feel right. I always ask myself first if I’m just intimidated by the complexity or frightened that I’m going to fail. Often the answer is to bring on more resources or recommend a scope change. But sometimes the right decision is to recommend that the project be canceled. A canceled project isn’t a sign of failure. Frequently the cause is bad timing, lack of funds, or insurmountable resistance by stakeholders.

The ability to trust our instincts and recognize the cues in a threatening situation is an important characteristic of a competent project manager. In the case of an ill-fated project, reality calls the shots. If we don’t listen, we might actually lead the company down the wrong road.