July 22, 2011
Liz published this at 8:01 am
about falling off cliffs.
I’m fairly sure I was born with a fear of heights.
My uncle, the photographer, didn’t have such fear. And as I recall, the rest of my family didn’t either.
And my uncle — the one with all of the expensive photography equipment — would find every opportunity to take pictures that involved standing my cousins and I near dramatic scenery.
I was always the one who ended up on the cliff side. It was always impossible to find my smile.
Even now, I can’t walk up to the edge of a cliff without thinking that the stone will give way. My imagination has me tumbling, down, down, down . . . even though, I’m fairly certain that’s not meant to be a scene in my life.
I used to have the same experience with decisions. Choosing any option would leave wondering whether the choice would fall out from under my feet. Then I realized the only thing between me and every success I every won was a decision that I would succeed.
Maybe it’s the awe inspiring beauty of the world that sets me on my heels.
Maybe it’s the awe inspiring idea that I can determine the course of my life.
I still respect cliffs and decisions, but now I place my feet firmly in where I stand so that down, down, down isn’t on mind.