by Nik Wallenda
I enter the studio. It’s a man/woman team doing the interview. They’re extremely pleasant. The woman is attractive. They want to know all about my past achievements. They express great enthusiasm about my upcoming skywalk. The conversation is fast-paced and pithy.
“One last question, Nik,” asks the woman. “How long is your balancing pole?”
“That’s kind of a personal question,” I say. “Maybe you should ask me that when we’re off the air.”
Point well made. Everyone laughs. I’m pleased at myself for displaying some wit. When the interview is over, I go back out to the car.
Erendira is furious.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“If you don’t know, that makes it even worse.”
“Know what?”
“What you said to that woman.”
“About the balancing pole?”
“Oh, so you do know.”
“It was a joke.”
“It wasn’t funny. It was crude and inappropriate.”
“And you’re jealous about a woman who I’ll never see again?”
“It has nothing to do with jealousy. I’m fed up with your thoughtlessness. Your entire world is centered on you.”
“You’re reading that remark the wrong way,” I say.
“You’re telling me how to read remarks. You’re telling me how to think. You want to control everyone and everything around you.”
“You’re just feeling…” I begin to say.
“I’m tired of the you messages. Tired of hearing you telling me how I feel.”
“Well, I know that…”
“You think you know everything, Nik. You’re like your father. You’re a know-it-all. Well, just know this. I’m going home.”
When we get back to the hotel, Erendira throws her clothes into a suitcase, climbs into the car and, without me, drives thirteen hundred miles to our home in Sarasota.
For the rest of my Walk Across America, I don’t hear another word from her.
For the rest of my Walk Across America, I’m feeling numb. I know my wife is spirited. I know she is a force to be reckoned with. I know she can fly off the handle in ways that seem extreme. But this is a new development. She really did pack up her things and leave. She really is gone. And alone, I am left to try to understand what has happened.
I see myself as a strong man. I see myself as a proud man. I see myself as a man who spiritually cannot be separated from my family. I’m devastated.
For all the tensions in the family in which I was raised, it never fell apart. Mom stuck with Dad. Dad stuck with Mom. Mom and Dad stuck by their kids. And their kids stuck by them.
My relationship with my dad has never been easy, but my dad has always been part of my team. It’s family first. It’s one big family. But is it?
When I married Erendira, we moved in with Mom and Dad. We probably lived with them too long, but money was an issue. Our earnings were slim. And because I believe in savings, I had to find a way to preserve our meager income. I knew Erendira was not happy living under the same roof as my parents, but I was the man in charge. I was the one who kept saying that it isn’t as bad as all that. After all, it’s family.
“How would you feel if I forced you to move in with my family?” Erendira would ask me.
Because that wasn’t a real possibility, I ignored the question.
“We have three distinct families,” Erendira kept reminding me. “There are our two original families—and then there’s our family. I love that you’re still connected to your original family. I love that you love and honor your mom and dad. I love and honor mine. My mom and sisters and their kids are over here all the time. That’s great. That’s how I want it to be. But then there has to be some kind of separation. That’s what they call healthy boundaries. We have to protect the integrity of our family. We have to create an emotional climate where we can breathe freely.”
I argued that psychology isn’t my strong suit. I’m a practical man. I’m a doer, an activist rather than an analyzer. I pointed out that I have an agenda that will benefit all our families.
That discussion took place months ago. But now, as I go through the final stages of my Walk Across America, there is no more discussion. I’m on the road and Erendira is home with no interest in talking to me.
Heartbroken and confused, I consult my closest friends.
“It’s obviously about more than that one comment,” says my buddy Mike Duff.
“That one comment was stupid,” I say.
“Especially since you knew that she was out in the car listening to the interview.”
“I was just being flip.”
“It happens. From time to time, we all shoot from the hip. But this thing has been building.”
“I really didn’t see it coming.”
“That’s part of the problem. You’re not really thinking about her. You’re so preoccupied with getting where you want to go that you don’t have time to feel what she’s going through.”
“No one can accuse me of not putting family first,” I argue. “For me family is everything.”
“You keep saying that, Nik, and I believe you. But that’s both a generalization and a cliché. Sure, it’s good to build up your career and save your money and provide for your family. Sure, you can be loyal to your wife—and I know you are—but that doesn’t mean that you don’t take her for granted.”
“I tell her all the time…”
“It isn’t what you tell her, it’s how you act. If you act like she’s simply another member of your team—as opposed to your equal partner—then I can understand her frustration. She’s a woman with gifts and talents of her own. Those gifts and talents need to be recognized. She has emotional needs. You need to see that before it’s too late.”
I go through weeks of sleepless nights, afraid that I have irreparably damaged the one thing more precious to me that any other: the love of my wife.
In my confusion, I seek God’s Word. I speak with an older man with a deep scriptural wisdom who suggests that I look at Matthew 20:26–28:
But whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be your slave, even as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.
Then he points to Matthew 23:11–12:
But he who is greatest among you shall be your servant. And whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.
And Philippians 2:3–5:
Let nothing be done through selfish ambition or conceit, but in lowliness of mind let each esteem others better than himself. Let each of you look out not only for his own interests, but also for the interests of others. Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus.
The Scripture that perhaps speaks loudest of all is 1 Peter 3:8–9:
Finally, all of you be of one mind, having compassion for one another; love as brothers, be tenderhearted, be courteous; not returning evil for evil or reviling for reviling, but on the contrary blessing, knowing that you were called to this, that you may inherit a blessing.
The concept, of course, is humility. Humility keeps coming up. I have no problem humbling myself before God, but how about the world?
After fifteen separate superdramatic skywalks in the past three months, after all the recognition in the press and acclaim from the fans, the world seems to be doing all it can to boost my ego. Or maybe I’m the one who’s doing all I can to assert myself.
For a guy who is supposedly an expert on maintaining balance, I feel like I’m losing it. I’m off-kilter. My life has been tilting to one side—my side. How to correct the imbalance? How to negotiate the most challenging walk of all—the walk of life?
Having thousands of people cheering me is a wonderful thing. Applause excites all entertainers—and I’m no different. We seek applause at every turn. But the one person who is not applauding is the one who means the most.
When I return home to Saras
ota, Erendira is still sullen.
“I’ve prayed about all this,” I say.
“So have I.”
“I love you.”
“Our love has never been in doubt,” she says.
“And I’m truly sorry about what I said on the radio.”
Erendira stays silent.
“I know you feel neglected,” I say.
“It isn’t a matter of neglect.”
“Well, maybe ‘neglect’ is the wrong word.”
“Try controlled. I feel controlled.”
“And I feel like my ego has been controlling me. Or maybe it’s my fear that if I can’t control my own family, I won’t be able to control what happens out there on the wire.”
“Or maybe it’s just how you’ve been raised. You were born into a family ruled by one man.”
“And so I tried to become that man.”
“You did more than try, Nik. You became that man.”
“And I can become a different man.”
“How?”
“First by recognizing how my attitude is stifling you. Recognizing that chauvinism is chauvinism. Chauvinism is machismo and sexism and all that other stuff. It doesn’t matter if I was born with chauvinism or just developed it. I had it.”
“Had?”
“Okay, have. But that doesn’t mean it’s a permanent condition.”
“It’s an awfully hard one to lose,” says my wife. “It’s a burden.”
“It’s a burden I can take to God. Through prayer, through meditating on God’s Word, through long hours alone, Erendira, I’m seeing through this thing. I really am. We tell people that we’re born-again Christians, and we are. But being born-again isn’t a one-time thing. We’re continually being reborn with new insights about our struggles and behavior. God is always revealing Himself to us, always opening windows and doors that shed new light. I think I’ve been living in some dark places. I’ve been so desperate to make my mark that your emotions weren’t a priority. I saw you as someone who loved me and was willing to go along for the ride.”
“I do love you, Nikolas. And I am willing to go on this ride, as long as you remember it’s our ride, not just yours.”
“I’ve been trying to remember that. I’ve been working on finding a way to make peace between the demands of my ambition and my desire to walk humbly as a servant of Christ.”
“I’m so happy to hear that, sweetheart, but only time will tell whether those are just words.”
“Those are words I mean with all my heart.”
“Then if you let your heart lead the way, we’ll be okay.”
“My heart has been longing for you ever since you left me in Ohio.”
“My heart is smiling now, Nikolas. My heart is feeling that you’re really willing to change.”
16
Sizzle
I want to change. I will change. I do change. I realize that there’s a difference between determination and pigheadedness. I also realize there’s a difference between being a strong and responsible father and being an emotional brute.
Because I’m driven beyond normal reason, I see that my drive at work—my need to supervise my crew and make certain every last detail is perfect—cannot and should not apply to my life at home.
It’s easy for me to see this fault in others. I can appreciate the CEO of an international conglomerate who spends his days giving orders and maintaining control of his sprawling concern. He has to run his company like clockwork. When he gets home it’s hard for him to turn off his CEO mode. And when he barks orders to his wife and kids like they’re his underlings, it’s reprehensible. The scenario repulses me.
And though I’m a far cry from a CEO, I can see that I have the same problem flipping the switch from the outside world, which requires a rough-and-ready attitude, and the inside world—the world of my home, my wife, and my precious children—which requires infinite patience, care, and love.
Just like the CEO, I face a battery of challenges every waking day. My life on the line depends on exactitude. There is no room for mistakes, no matter how small. That requires that I scrutinize everyone and everything. As a performer, this is what I learned from my mom. As a rigger, this is what I learned from my dad. In my line of work, being demanding is not only smart, it’s essential to your physical survival.
But what about the emotional survival of a family?
Emotions aren’t exact; they’re messy. Feelings can’t be understood in mathematical or scientific terms. It’s hard for me to put this into action, but the emotions and feelings of others must always be considered. When I closely study the life of Jesus, I see Him meeting people on their own terms. I see Him listening, understanding, and offering extraordinary compassion. He doesn’t treat his team of disciples like a workforce to be ordered about. He treats them as brothers. He is not a harsh taskmaster but rather a loving teacher who has time for everyone. He radiates patience. He embodies love.
This is my goal: to be a loving husband, father, son, and friend. I don’t want to be some domestic tyrant who, having been the demanding boss all day at work, can’t turn it off at night.
Still, I struggle. Jumping from one role to the other isn’t easy. Being demanding, being controlling, being in charge of my world is heady business. It can feel good. It can give me the impression, although false, that I’ve gotten a handle on the chaotic nature of things. I’m running things—and I like that.
Who doesn’t?
Especially when things seem to be going my way.
That’s what happened to me at the very start of the Walk Across America when I was in Marion, Ohio. I got a call from a TV production company in L.A.
“You’re brilliant,” said the head of the firm. “You’re a superstar. You’re everything that America wants to see on TV.”
Like most people, I’m a fool for flattery. But this flattery was especially seductive since it came with an offer.
“You’re a dreamer, aren’t you, Nik?”
“I have dreams, yes.”
“And those dreams are about doing bigger and better things.”
“That’s right.”
“I think I can help you make many of those dreams come true.”
“How?”
“By finding a way to finance them.”
“I’m interested.”
“Then let’s talk.”
We do. I learn that the man wants to package and sell me as a series to Discovery Channel. Each episode will show me developing and then executing a new and daring feat. The feats will grow more daring with each passing week.
How do I feel about having cameras follow me during every stage of my stunts—even the preparation?
I’m fine with that. I’m more eager for the exposure than I am concerned about my privacy.
“What do we have to do to get started?” I ask.
“Make a sizzle reel.”
“What’s that?”
“A short film. A five-minute pitch that not only sells your sparkling personality but gives a glimpse of the heart-pounding drama that you bring to the small screen. Are you game?”
“I am.”
We go to work and film the sales pitch for the series. The sizzle reel sizzles. The Discovery Channel is interested. We have some entry-level meetings followed by midlevel meetings followed by a meeting with the big cheese, the president of the network. He says good. He says go. He gives us enough money to film six episodes.
A few weeks later I get a call from Winston Simone.
“How’d you like to go to Paradise?” he asks.
“Paradise sounds good.”
“The problem is that Paradise is filled with sharks, stingrays, barracudas, and piranhas.”
“Well, that just makes things more interesting,” I say.
Winston is talking about Atlantis Paradise Island in the Bahamas. The resort is interested in having me do the first episode of my Discovery series on their property.
I come up with two stunts. The first is
riding a bike on a 260-foot wire above the ocean. That will be a world record—nearly twice the height of my Prudential bike ride in Newark. Guinness will take note.
The second feat will be the longest tightrope trip of my career. I’ll take a long walk between the two iconic Atlantis towers over some of the fiercest man-eating fish on the planet.
I’m revved up and ready to go.
Before Paradise, though, I go back to Sarasota, where I do my first hometown skywalk. In downtown Sarasota, I walk from the roof of One Watergate Condominium to the top of the Ritz-Carlton. At Circus Sarasota I also re-create the seven-person pyramid. But during an extension of that engagement in Fort Myers I roll and crack my ankle while playing tennis. It swells up to where I can’t lace up my wire shoes. The doctors say it’s fractured and requires a cast. A cast will mean that I’ll have to cancel the seven-person pyramid; I have no one to replace me as the anchor. I think of my great-grandfather’s reaction after the pyramid fell in Detroit. He left the hospital and returned to the circus the very next day. With Karl in mind, I decide to let the ankle heal on its own. It’s painful, but I manage. The show goes on, there are no mishaps, and the ankle heals remarkably quickly.
More important, I also need healing in my relationship with Erendira. I not only need to reconfirm her faith in me, I need to express my faith in her—her independence and her special gifts. None of this is possible without God.
My struggle with ego and arrogance is continuing. Sometimes I can catch myself getting control crazy; sometimes I can’t. When arrogance pops up, I try to acknowledge it. I can own it, but I can’t entirely defeat it. Ego has energy of its own. I’m assertive. I’m aggressive. I’m ambitious. I can’t stop striving to outdo myself. That won’t change. But what can change is my prayer life. I can pray to increase my awareness of when there’s too much me and not enough thee. I can try and strike a balance between desire for improvement and desire for adulation.
I want to be noticed. Without that need I’d never last a day as a daredevil performer. The need for the spotlight is in my DNA. But so is my need for God and God’s grace. I need to remember that, with or without spectacular achievement, the loving arms of Jesus are always open to me. Spectacular achievement just happens to be my job. But no matter how grand the spectacle, it pales in comparison to the work of the Creator.
