Dar and I were childhood friends who met at a trampoline school.
One day we climbed a ladder up to a billboard, high above the roof of the school, and dove off, landing on a soft pad below. I climbed to the fifth rung; Dar just kept climbing. Ten years later, he was one of the most daring and successful stuntmen of modern times.
For one of his stunts, Dar had to run full tilt forward, spin around backward, crash through a glass window, fall sixteen stories, and then do a somersault with a half twist, before dropping into an airbag. Any miscalculation or mistake would have cost him his life.
Dar’s stunts included diving off the top of the Capitol Records building in Los Angeles, leaping from a helicopter hovering at three hundred feet to land in an airbag (that looked the size of a postage stamp below), and driving a car off the rim of the Grand Canyon, whereupon he climbed out in mid-air and pulled his parachute.
Some people believed that Dar was as crazy as he was fearless, but he was neither. He just had a secret that he had learned long ago on that ladder above the trampoline center:
Dar Robinson, one of the greatest modern-day daredevils, was terrified—practically scared to death—each and every stunt. His heart leaped from his chest; he had to consciously control his rapid breathing; he sweated, he trembled, just like the rest of us—then he did what he had set out to do. This is what you and I can do in everyday life.
Fear cannot take your power; the danger is that you may surrender your power without a fight. . .