Member-only story
Personal Evolution
Everything On The Lines
I throw out the line, hoping it hooks well on the other side, so I can pull it taut and proceed. It’s different every time. Sometimes it’s being an angel, the wings invisible, but I know they’re working, that I can trust them when I need them, and I soar. The miracle of walking on air. Other times my feet are only for standing still, like roots, deep into the soil, stable but unmovable.
But the show must go on—so I’ve also learned some magic tricks, and some skills of the mime. Keep the crowd captivated so they don’t see the struggle.
Did I mention I have a fear of heights? And to be honest, of lows.
Often it stops me cold. I walk around the house. Doesn’t help. It’s a small place, can’t get enough traction for a sprint or leap. No views out the window. On the way back from a kitchen-snack distraction I inevitably catch myself in the mirror—with that reminder of Time on the wall behind me—converting AA battery juice into tick-tocks.
It’s not that I was any better at this when I was younger. It just seems that as I’m maneuvering that tightly drawn line I’m carrying more weight.
I’ve certainly added pounds and wrinkles over the years but what I mean is that internal Burden of the Self baggage. It can shift surfaces to all manner of unstable and trips me up.
