At no point that I remember have I willingly launched myself from earth.
Offered my body up to an ocean wave, catapulted off a diving board or lifted both feet at once and hopped into the deep end, jumped into a man’s arms from a running start, trusted Mother to catch my toddler’s carefree leapfrog.
I find it suspect–embarrassing in these advancing years.
God knows I’m good at falling—a missed step, an awkward icy skid, those unintended flights across tennis courts, trick knee howling. Taken into the wicked arms of vertigo.
But choose to fly of my own accord? Not within memory.
Well, if someone else was driving, a little.
Grin ‘til the carnie threw the Ferris wheel into a swoop.
Relish the gathered energy of a jet’s takeoff.
Swooped down Patmos lanes on two taxi tires.
Joyful joy rides entrusted to someone else.
Risk with a bit of planning and pondering, that’s worked too.
Daring myself with a nonrefundable ticket.
Hovering by the right door at Dulles when Bob flew home.
Dazzling an interview team for a job I knew better than to take.
Showing up in the down coat at Dave’s door.
I’ve called my own bluff and pocketbook a time or two.
My life’s turned on a couple of those bluffs.
I’ve let adventure come to me. Risk disguised as duty and fate and good works. The illusion of bravery created in the mirrors of obligation, chance. The difference between making life, choosing, sailing off on my schedule, kicking up my heels in Saul’s chimney sweep dance—both feet in the air. Trusting the music, the waves, the air.
And, given the immutable laws of age and inertia, I’m not gathering speed.
Soon now, there will be a moment when nothing will tether me to this earth. When I will leave gravity – physical and emotional – behind.
Like so many, I’d like to choose that moment.
Soar into the universe.
And when I do it will be my first solo flight.
As Rodney sang it, still learning how to fly! ©