I remember they told me not to jump. They told me I was only going to hit the ground. I knew they were right, but oh I just wanted to believe I could fly.
I remember pumping my legs harder, thinking if I could just get high enough, there’s no way I would ever hit the ground again. I could sail over the fence, separating myself from the outside world. I remember looking down from above the swing-set, having reached a new high, a new euphoric feeling, a feeling that I could jump and enjoy the fall rather than fearing it. And then, I remember waking up, looking up from playground dirt, concerned bystanders crowding over me, the gnarled chain link fence scoffing at my stupidity. Finally, I remember hurting, not from the source of blood streaming down my face, but from the painful admittance of being so naive. You’d think I would have learned right then and there to always think before I jump.
In life, there is an infinite number of situations that involve the decision of whether or not the "leap" is worth it, worth the potential fall. The concept of losing footing is terrifying. The foolish reality of this truth is that we fear only the culmination. We don’t fear the few seconds after releasing our grip from the chains connecting the swing to the overhead bar. We do not fear the final expression of our feelings, the admittance of a hidden truth. We certainly do not fear relationships in which personal growth is paired with the togetherness of ones we care about. We dread the heartbreak, the ego-destroying event of being left behind. We dread the reciprocating anger once we express our own. Even more so, we dread the silence that follows an act of jumping, or a sharp indifference in its place.
I never feared the ground that day I attempted to free myself from the swing at a point I could reach the other side of the fence. I don’t recall crying after ultimately hitting the fence, either. Should I not have been more apprehensive about this leap as opposed to other ones I have taken throughout my life? The release of emotion, the falling in love, those don’t always ensure brokenness, but gravity will absolutely bring you down. This causes me to contemplate whether or not this changes with age. Do we become more nervous and pessimistic as we grow older? At what point did we stop enjoying the beauty in flying, even if it is only for a moment?
