Approaching the edge
The free fall has always enticed me—the idea of completely letting go and the rush of adrenaline that forces every cell inside of you awake. My limbs buzz with anticipation, but as I get up to the edge, my feet freeze in place. I am stuck like I walked into fixed cement, too afraid to make the jump I have been waiting for years to make. Panic fills me as I think about what is at stake and how much I could possibly lose.
And so I lock my feet in position and refuse to make any move at all. I sit down and cross my arms like a stubborn child. I try to pretend it isn't fear because I hate feeling weak, but the fear consumes me. It eats up every part of me. It surges through my veins achingly slow and fast all at once.
It's funny what fear does to a person—how it convinces you of things you've known your whole life to be untrue.
Fear makes you believe that you are weak. It makes you believe you're not enough.
And so I sit, stewing in my fear with tears streaming down my face. They blind my vision, making me see things that aren't there. I cling to anything I can — any little piece of stronghold that I can find. I reach out many times and return with nothing but air, my fingers desperately trying to find the places that were always there for me to hold on to before.
Should I stay or should I jump?
I dig my heels in, trying to slow the inevitable pull towards the open door while hands pull me away from it. I'm unsure which way to go. This hesitation worries me, but the fear is still in control. I can feel myself slipping and sliding forward. My heartbeat speeds up in anticipation — and still I cry out that I need help, believing that I need someone to pull me back and keep me there.
My panicked mind believes I need solid ground.
For the first time in as long as I can remember, the free fall terrifies me instead of exciting me.
The freedom that always called to me before now feels childish and unimportant. The panic sets in deeper.
Desperate attempts for the final foothold leave me feeling embarrassed and not like myself. The air around me closes in — wet, heavy and choking. I close my eyes like a coward, afraid to see what I know is coming — what is already here.
I pray. And I pray. And I pray.
Enjoy the ride
Maybe the fear of leaving a place of comfort and safety has a stronger power over me than I am willing to admit. But I finally let go. I stop grasping at everything and let it all slide through my open fingers.
I tumble into the free fall headfirst.
It immediately feels like a tailspin and I'm not sure I'll survive the fall. After a few moments, I am able to feel the warmth of the sun on my face and I instinctively open my eyes.
When I do, I can no longer see that place of comfort and safety — it is far behind me now — but I realize that the floor beneath my feet isn't as necessary as I believed it to be.
I don't know what awaits me at the end of this. I don't know if there's a soft surface waiting to catch me or if the hard ground is rushing up to meet me faster than I can anticipate, but right now I'm enjoying the beautiful ride.