I am not scared of heights.
I’ve climbed a lot of tall buildings, looked over more than my share of cliff faces. The Eiffel Tower was easy, between the mass of people unconcernedly taking photos and the breathtaking skyline. The Grand Canyon made me nervous, though I’ve been told it scared my parents nearly to death as we stopped less than ten feet from the edge and looked across to an altogether unbelievable oil painting, which actually turned out to be the other side of the canyon. The Statue of Liberty was terrifying, not because it was higher than I’d ever been but because of the thin, metal staircase and railing which gave way to empty void for a hundred feet until it hit the stark bronze wall of the statue itself.
In that kind of position, my knees quake and my stomach collapses in on itself. I cling to the nearest sturdy surface and lower my center of gravity, hoping that the sheer solidity of the earth itself can still my trembling soul. But I am not afraid of heights.
I am afraid of falling.
I enjoy rock climbing. I enjoy hiking up mountainsides. I treasure each and every wonderful view, standing above my worries and my daily life as the world below cascades out to the horizon. The ocean meets the countryside’s elegant pose, and the two dance out of sight until all I can see is a deep blue. I know that blue just happens to be the longest wavelength, but for me it represents the infinite possibility of my lifetime.
I love the heights. I love the view. But from time to time the shivers of anticipation become the quivers of anxiety, because some day I will fall. I will be cast across the void until I, too, fade to blue.