Standing on the edge of the abyss, digging my toes in, trying to keep from tumbling over the edge: I’m scared! I shout into the wind, but silence greets me. How did I end up in this spot, ready to take the leap but scared shitless? I’ve been here before. I've taken the leap a few times. Still, doubts and fears creep in. The net has always appeared, and unexpected doors have opened.
Moving to the edge, once again, has taken me on an unpredictable journey. Looking back at the bags and suitcases along the path, I see what I had to let go of. I hold on to the last small suitcase, but I know I must set it down, too.
I can’t leap with luggage.
The plan was a good plan, or so I thought. Writing a book had been a dream since childhood. Senior fitness was my area of expertise, so writing a book about fitness seemed a safe choice. If I had stuck to that plan, I would have missed following a new path—one that turned out to be more beautiful and adventurous than I could have imagined.
Occasionally getting lost and taking a different route led to discoveries I would have missed, along with breathtaking scenery along the way. Always traveling the same roads, the ones that are predictable, would have been comfortable and felt safe, but I had to keep moving forward toward my destiny.
As I tiptoe to the edge, quaking in my boots, excuses keep running through my mind. I’m too old. I don’t have enough time. But, I ask myself: If not now, when? Will I be a wimp or a warrior? Either the net will appear, and I’ll find my wings, or I’ll splat at the bottom, needing to pick myself up once again.
What the hell.
Fuck old age!
It’s time to fly!