Free Fall
I'm sure the no-turning-back point came long ago before today. Be that as it may, today is the absolutely-no-way-josé-ain't-gonna-happen-cause-you're-surrounded-by-concrete-barriers-no-turning-around point.
Those of you who are on my friends filter know that I moved, and it isn't just a 20-minutes-up-the-street sort of move. It's a five-days-across-the-country-or-expensive-plane-ticket sort of move. Today my father, who graciously drove with me across country with my cats, left for home. His plane is set to take off in a matter of minutes.
Having done a few moves of the former variety before, let me tell you that, now that I have experienced the second sort for the first time, they are completely different. Those 20-minutes-up-the-street moves: sure, they have a lot in common with the five-days-cross-the-country moves; you still have to box things up, you still have to shrink wrap the more delicate furniture, and your life is still chaotic in between the packing and unpacking phases of life. But what is different here, aside from the economics of scale as far as distance goes, is one little thing that you pack... but something that you won't get to unpack for months and months to come: the feelings for those you have "left behind."
As my lips trembled at the airport today, my eyes straining to cut the flow of tears and show a strong face to my father--who, by the way, was trying to do the same for me, I came up with the title of this entry because it was, quite literally, the emotion I was feeling. I stood at the precipice of a cliff which was my life, the plateau of the status quo behind me. Knowing that my life had to change, I chose not to do a cannonball into the kiddie pool just a few feet beneath me but to follow my dream and execute (or at least try to execute!) a (quasi-)graceful swan dive into a big lake hundreds of feet down the sheer cliff side. I figured to myself, if I'm going to disrupt my life to change its direction, why settle for the small stuff when you can go for your dream? The opportunity came, and I leapt, sailing horizontally into the air, waiting for gravity to kick in...
And as with any decision, the law of gravity will pull you on a roller-coaster coarse to its inevitable result. Speed kicks up, and you hurtle face first into that unstoppable decent. And you achieve free fall... complete weightlessness, virtually seeming like nothing, caught up with the thrill and horror of what you are doing... powerless to stop it (unless you were wise and packed a parachute!).
I presently stand--or rather fall--in this state.
For, as the old adage of "look before you leap" says, once you're in the air, there's very little you can do to stop it. In some ways I'm reminded of the old game Pilotwings for the SNES where there's this big bullseye with areas of the grass below (or water, more hopefully in my case!) represent certain scores as to how well you did. Only in this case, those scores are how successful you will be at in life... life! It's nothing to scoff at. I see this bullseye coming for me, but the skies--just like the city here--are grey and cloudy most of the day, thus preventing my foresight of the future. I can only hope I aimed well, for I gave up much on the plateau to aim for this trajectory... and my aeronautical acrobatics need to be stellar to impress the audience.
In flight, as I'm sure happens when people who actually parachute for a living, sometimes I wonder to myself, literally, "What the hell are you doing here? Stupid me! Why didn't I stay where I was?!" But I know the answer to the self-posed question. Because I had to.
My life, no matter where I land, will be different, and nothing I can do will change that. But isn't that the only certainty of life: change? We are all on journeys in life with uncertain or unknown destinations. I only hope that the destination toward which I have set myself on a crash course lands me in the 100-point area... or that, if I should fail, those I have picked up to come here... and those I have left to be here... will be able to provide a safety net so that I may rebound into success.
Those of you who are on my friends filter know that I moved, and it isn't just a 20-minutes-up-the-street sort of move. It's a five-days-across-the-country-or-expensive-plane-ticket sort of move. Today my father, who graciously drove with me across country with my cats, left for home. His plane is set to take off in a matter of minutes.
Having done a few moves of the former variety before, let me tell you that, now that I have experienced the second sort for the first time, they are completely different. Those 20-minutes-up-the-street moves: sure, they have a lot in common with the five-days-cross-the-country moves; you still have to box things up, you still have to shrink wrap the more delicate furniture, and your life is still chaotic in between the packing and unpacking phases of life. But what is different here, aside from the economics of scale as far as distance goes, is one little thing that you pack... but something that you won't get to unpack for months and months to come: the feelings for those you have "left behind."
As my lips trembled at the airport today, my eyes straining to cut the flow of tears and show a strong face to my father--who, by the way, was trying to do the same for me, I came up with the title of this entry because it was, quite literally, the emotion I was feeling. I stood at the precipice of a cliff which was my life, the plateau of the status quo behind me. Knowing that my life had to change, I chose not to do a cannonball into the kiddie pool just a few feet beneath me but to follow my dream and execute (or at least try to execute!) a (quasi-)graceful swan dive into a big lake hundreds of feet down the sheer cliff side. I figured to myself, if I'm going to disrupt my life to change its direction, why settle for the small stuff when you can go for your dream? The opportunity came, and I leapt, sailing horizontally into the air, waiting for gravity to kick in...
And as with any decision, the law of gravity will pull you on a roller-coaster coarse to its inevitable result. Speed kicks up, and you hurtle face first into that unstoppable decent. And you achieve free fall... complete weightlessness, virtually seeming like nothing, caught up with the thrill and horror of what you are doing... powerless to stop it (unless you were wise and packed a parachute!).
I presently stand--or rather fall--in this state.
For, as the old adage of "look before you leap" says, once you're in the air, there's very little you can do to stop it. In some ways I'm reminded of the old game Pilotwings for the SNES where there's this big bullseye with areas of the grass below (or water, more hopefully in my case!) represent certain scores as to how well you did. Only in this case, those scores are how successful you will be at in life... life! It's nothing to scoff at. I see this bullseye coming for me, but the skies--just like the city here--are grey and cloudy most of the day, thus preventing my foresight of the future. I can only hope I aimed well, for I gave up much on the plateau to aim for this trajectory... and my aeronautical acrobatics need to be stellar to impress the audience.
In flight, as I'm sure happens when people who actually parachute for a living, sometimes I wonder to myself, literally, "What the hell are you doing here? Stupid me! Why didn't I stay where I was?!" But I know the answer to the self-posed question. Because I had to.
My life, no matter where I land, will be different, and nothing I can do will change that. But isn't that the only certainty of life: change? We are all on journeys in life with uncertain or unknown destinations. I only hope that the destination toward which I have set myself on a crash course lands me in the 100-point area... or that, if I should fail, those I have picked up to come here... and those I have left to be here... will be able to provide a safety net so that I may rebound into success.