If there is one relatable experience that intertwines us, it is the familiar rocky cliff, where we stand in a smokey fog, haunted by the shadowy chasm existing between “the here and now” and the “what is to come.” Our gaze, the closer we are to the edge, falls steadily downward taking note of the jagged edges and the dense darkness that seems to rise up out of the distant ravine. Sometimes we lift our eyes and take note of a weather-worn bridge with greying and rotted wooden planks – held together by fraying horsehair ropes. In this stance, fear resides paralyzing movement, until the outside forces bare in as great gusts of wind pushing us onward – or at least on to our knees sending us crawling back and away to some sort of safety in what is known. Should we choose to stand, we are met with the risk of an unsteady bridge, and a need to be extremely sure-footed.
I think, sometimes, that as we age we become more afraid of the risks. Failure seems to have greater consequences, while comfort increasingly seems like “just trying to get by.”
My father always said that “you should live without regrets.” While I don’t believe that this is remotely possible, as I for one am entirely and happily flawed, I do think that there is a sense of knowing and discovery that comes about through this mindset. Somewhere along the line, regret and risk wove themselves together in my mind. On the whole, I would say that the risks I have taken have outweighed the regret (with the exception of love, but maybe I just “haven’t met the right one yet,” as my cousins would say). Still, the point remains that as life goes on the complications of saying “YES” compound.
When did it become so easy to say “no?” Who taught us to live inside ourselves? How is it that life experiences can hinder us from actually living?
Every day is in some way a risk. The unexpected will arise, and the risk will take shape in how we choose to respond the occurrence. And, while I know these things, I still find myself with a downward gaze, as the sounds of a strong north wind can be heard barreling towards me. The question is not whether I will cross, but rather will I make it to the other side? And, maybe the bridge is sturdy and strong, and I am fooled by the fog. But it can be so hard to shake this feeling when you cannot be sure of your own footing.
Wendy E. Braun - This Existence 