I wrote this in December a year ago.
It has felt for weeks, maybe even months, that I’ve been trying to summon enough courage to jump off the high dive for the first time. I’ve made a few running starts only to back off for reasons such as I wasn’t in the exact middle of the board or the sun went behind a cloud just as I was picking up speed.
In the reality of this moment, there is no board and no pool below. In the reality of this moment, it’s not that I’m not in the middle of the board so much as I feel that if I jump, I will never stop falling.
If it were only as simple as a rectangular pool of blue water thirty feet below. A container of some sort. Any sort.
And then I found a container–to catch me.