The Precipice

I wrote this November 20th, 2008.

I stand at the edge of a cliff, watching as a river flows through the valley below. The wings on my back flutter anxiously. It’s time for me to spread my wings and fly--but I can’t. My stomach churns as I gaze down the precipice. I take a step back from the ledge. What if I can’t do it? What if I were to try and, instead of gliding easily across to the hill on the other side, I fell into the watery depths? The more I analyze what I had meant to attempt, the more my fear and doubt grow. I can’t do this, I tell myself. I can’t. But what would I do if I didn’t try? What if I give up and never try to fly? Then I would never know if I could have done it. I would always wonder and wish I had had the courage. I can’t go back. I have to try.

I spread my wings and jump.