I have lived my life in fear. I think I am the most scared person on this planet. Paralysed with terror, I dread the outcomes of that, which is not to be.
The easy way out is to blame my genes, my conditioning, for drilling into me that security is the most important facet of life. So I tell myself, as I plot and plan, and come up with counter plans, the fail-safe plans.
Perhaps, these even work to some extent, for they brought me to where I am now.
Yet, I know instinctively that the biggest leaps have happened when I have risked everything – like really back-against-a-wall-of-fire-everything; regardless of the outcome. Before that, I was saying I wanted something but I wasn’t actually going for it.
I know this is true, can feel it in the pit of my stomach where I get that funny vibrating feeling when something is absolutely, utterly, irrefutably, correct.
But, I cannot bring myself to close that distance. That jump into the darkness, that spring over the gap to the other side of the canyon, that deep breath before the dive from the swimming board breaking through that sheet of blue water, touching bottom then arcing up, breaking through the surface and jiving through air.
I can sense the freedom of that space as I write.
That being alive feeling you get when you are on the edge: the beating of the heart, the drumming of the blood in your ears, that feeling of flying.
You see the view, realise how insignificant you really are in the bigger scheme, take in the beauty around you, and then, it doesn’t matter how and where you arrive.
So what am I afraid of?
This post was inspired by Daisy Nokes