Life beyond fear | Karina Hollekim | TEDxBucharest

This talk was given at a local TEDx event, produced independently of the TED Conferences.

Karina Hollekim, the first female athlete to complete a ski base, overcame a terrible accident and returned as a winner. In this talk, she shares a story about those moments which can change our lives forever, about willpower, and passion.

(Video and music)

This, it was me.

I was no extraordinary girl,

but I did some extraordinary things.

Not a lot of people can
identify themselves with BASE jumpers,

but the drive within us

that makes us follow our dream
and maintain the kid in us,

I believe it exists in us all.

I've lived a bit of an unusual life,

but my story is universal.

It's about finding your passion in life,

choosing the life you want to live,

and then never give up.

When I was in elementary school,

my teacher asked me
if I could tell her about my dreams.

I explained how I dreamt
about flying like the birds.

I thought that birds must be
the happiest creatures in the world.

I admired their capability
of playing in the air and to be so free.

My teacher told me it was a nice dream,

but I had to learn
how to be more realistic in life,

because people can't fly.

But I never gave up
on that childhood dream,

and against better knowledge,
I did learn how to fly.

BASE jumping has
an alarmingly high mortality rate,

and in order to defend our sport,

we used gallows humor frequently.

Whenever we were stressed or nervous
about the possible outcome,

we would ask ourselves,
"What can possibly go wrong?"

It was our defense mechanism
and survival mechanism

whenever we were stressed,
and it kind of worked.

I lived in a dreamworld,
as a BASE jumper and a free skier.

My life was filled
with film shoots and photo shoots,

helicopters and private planes.

I was sponsored by some
of the biggest names in the industry.

I was on fire.

And this was my every day.

(Music)

(Video)

(Applause)

Thank you.

(Applause)

I was at World Cup in paragliding.

It was a huge show,

and I was invited there to jump
and entertain in the breaks.

The atmosphere inside the plane was light,

and the last day came easily.

We were neither worried nor nervous.
We had done this hundreds of times.

We jumped out of the plane.

I was jumping with a camera
on my helmet, filming the others.

We flew side by side, making S-turns
over and under each other,

and the smoke
that we had attached to our leg

followed our every move and created
a beautiful pattern in the sky.

It was time to release the parachute,

and land safely on the grassy field
in front of the spectators.

And as pulled my chute,
I could hear the clapping

and the shouting from the thousands
of people underneath me,

and I let out a scream
of pure happiness, "Ooo!"

And then, I realized
that something had gone wrong.

(Video)

At the top of my career,
my dream shattered.

In ten seconds,
I went from heaven to hell.

My chute was spinning
uncontrollably towards the ground.

I had a tension knot
that tangled my lines.

My first thought was, "I'll fix it."

But soon, the rotation speed
was over 100 kilometers per hour,

and the knot was huge.

I have lost friends in exactly this way,

and I understood
that I would die the same way.

It felt stupid.

I had done so many
dangerous things in my life,

and now I was going to die like this?

In a routine skydive from a plane?

I didn't see my life
flickering before my eyes.

Dying didn't scare me.
I just didn't want to die.

I loved my life.

The only thoughts
that went through my mind

in those last couple of seconds
were, "Fix the problem.

You have to fix the problem.

You can do this!"

And then, I braced for impact.

I hit the ground, and it all turned black.

With more than 100 kilometers per hour,

I hit a huge rock
when I impacted the ground.

It crushed everything that I had
from my hips and down.

I had four fractures in my left femur,

I had two broken knees,

and I had 21 open fractures
in my right side.

But that rock saved my back,

and it saved my head,

and most importantly, I was still alive.

I woke up two days later at the hospital,

and the doctor that stood by my bed
didn't exactly fill my room with sunshine,

although he emphasized
how lucky I had been.

He rambled on about infections in my body,

and how they managed to keep
my right leg until further notice.

"Until further notice? What do you mean?"

And then, he finished off
with their conclusion:

I was so injured
that I would never walk again.

I was so shocked I couldn't speak.

My throat thickened.

I could feel tears were watering
my eyes, but I couldn't cry.

I couldn't say a single word.

I didn't even ask him one single question.

Then, he turned around,
and I saw only the back of his white coat,

as he was already on his way
to the next patient.

The sound of the door slamming
echoed in my room.

I cried every day for a week.

I had no power,
I was afraid of the future,

and I could see no light
at the end of the tunnel.

Thoughts and unanswered questions
were flickering through my mind.

What would I do for a living?

This was my job!

But more importantly, it was my identity.

Was I never going to be able
to have my own family?

I was frustrated, and I was sad,

and I was linked to a wheelchair
on indefinite time.

What do you do then?

I spent four months in that hospital.

I went through 20 surgeries,

and the doctors removed
12 cm of my femur,

because it had rotted due to bacteria.

An amputation was now the only solution.

I woke up at the PO
after the last surgery,

and I was met by a smiling doctor.

I had now spent
four months in the hospital.

I had never seen a smiling doctor.

They told me that they had found
a piece of grass and dirt

inside my leg,
hiding in between the steel.

Now that they had removed the grass,

it was finally over.

From that point on,

I decided to eliminate
all negative energy.

Even living a dream life,

I had spent so many hours
not feeling good enough,

always striving for what was next,

instead of appreciating right now.

After all, I had been given
a second chance.

Normally, we don't walk around
being appreciative of being alive,

and neither do I,

but those final seconds
spiraling towards the ground

gave me perspective.

They made me realize
that my time here on Earth is limited.

They made me realize that,
one day, it might be too late.

So, if I wanted to do something,

it would need to be right now.

At this point, I weighed 42 kg.

It's a little bit less than I weigh today.

But my goal was not
to relearn how to walk.

I needed something bigger.

I needed something
that would trigger my emotions,

that would make me want
to get up in the morning.

I needed a dream.

My dream was to make it back

to my mountains,
and my powder skiing again.

I had pushed limits
ever since I was a little girl.

I left my job as a computer programmer
in order to pursue my dream.

I was the first girl in the world
to perform ski base.

Now I had to take this,

and transform it to my hospital bed,
and use it from there.

It wasn't easy.

It was never easy before,

and it was even more difficult now,

but like we always used to say,

"What can possibly go wrong?"

But for the first time in my life,
I was now dependent on other people.

I had never felt more vulnerable,

more helpless.

What I needed was to learn
the most basic skill,

the skill of a two-year-old:

the skill of learning how to walk.

It's ironic.

I had spent all my life
trying to be special,

trying to be different,

and now, all I wanted was to be normal.

At this point, I had no power
to make the big changes.

So, I needed to put my energy
where it would make a difference.

I realized the power
of the little changes,

and how they could make
a difference in the long run.

At what point did I choose my life?

At what point did I choose to fight?

Was it the day that I woke up
after my accident?

Or was it the day that my doctor told me
that I would never walk again?

Or was it the day after?

The truth is, I chose this every day,

every morning when I woke up,
all through the day,

and every night before I went to bed.

It didn't just happen. I chose it.

The good thing about realizing
that I'm the one who chooses

is that I'm now in charge.

I don't get to choose
the actions that happen to me,

but I can choose
how I want to relate to them.

And just knowing that I have a choice

makes it feel a lot easier.

It took me six months

to learn how to put my socks on.

It took me three years
to relearn how to walk.

It took me four years
to make it back to the slopes,

but six years
before I could actually enjoy them.

Two years ago, I stood
on a high mountain top in Norway.

It took me five years to make it there,

five years of training, of uncertainty,

and fear of failure, to make it there,

but the joy of making it back,

that's what's made me
a complete person again.

(Music)

(Video)

(Applause)

Thank you.

(Applause)

I've been given a gift.

I've been given the gift
of seeing into the future,

and coming back
to live my life differently.

How would you change
if this happened to you?

I chose my life,

and no matter if I would have had
to spend the rest of my life

in that wheelchair,
I wouldn't have regretted it.

It sure helps, but it's not necessary
to crash skydiving

in order to take actions in your life.

Just remember that out time
here on Earth is limited.

So, you'd better start making it happen,

because at the end of the day,
what really scares me

is the fear of failure,

and the only failure that I can [have]

is if I never try.

And if I were to say
one thing to my future child,

it would have to be, "You have one life.

Live it, because what can
possibly go wrong?"

Thank you very much.

(Applause)

Thank you.

(Applause)

Thank you. Bye bye.

(Applause)