“See that bump on the trunk? Put your foot right there.” My dad was talking to me as he helped me climb an apple tree. I was barely four—and a little afraid—but I was willing to follow and trust his guidance; I was willing to show ability and strength; I was willing to learn.
Did I have a choice? Could I step down and quit? It didn’t seem like it. My father wasn’t beneath me to catch me if something went wrong; instead, he was right above me. I was six feet off the ground, which seemed like a deadly height to me. This exercise was way beyond what I had ever attempted on my own. My older brother Yann was next to my father and already confident in his own ability, which just added to my desire not to disappoint my dad. I wanted to succeed. I wanted to be proud of myself, and I wanted my father and brother to be proud of me, too.
It’s a natural instinct in young children to seek peer validation through their achievements. At the time, I was too young to think of the situation in those exact terms, but I had the intuition of the practical, real value the challenge held. I knew it in my gut.
I remember this first big tree-climbing experience very well, but that’s not really when my Natural Movement training had started. My dad told me about another situation that I have no memory of, which proved to be a pivotal experience for me. He had climbed to the top of a steep muddy hill as I struggled along behind him. I was quite young—only about two years old. My father said I called for help, but he wouldn’t come back down to assist me. I tried to climb but kept sliding down and back. After a few attempts, I started weeping in frustration and again called for help. My dad kept asking me to try again; he was not going to come to my rescue, and I had to make it on my own.