The High Dive

The High Dive

I once watched a girl 

Attempt the high dive

About 25 times 

Before she finally leapt

(nay, flopped)

into the deep pool below.

And as much as I laughed inside,

with every small child that passed her by

flipping,

twirling,

diving,

without inhibition,

On so many levels 

I knew exactly how she felt.

Because we've all been that girl on the high dive:

Our toes dangling on the edge of something great,

Eyes surveying the height,

Mind weighing the pros and cons,

Heart pumped by exhilarated breathing,

We

                                                               Step

                                             Back.

We think.

We fear.

We retreat.

We would rather miss the fall,

the potential flop,

that bruising smack of failure,

the embarrassment of emerging 

wind knocked-out

and 

spirits 

low.

We simply

would 

rather 

not.

 This year, however, 

I want to jump more.

I want to feel the rush,

the plunge,

the smack,

the bubbles,

the lungs choking on chlorinated laughter

the gasps,

the applause.

I want to feel it all.

So take the job, 

tell him how you feel,

call your mom,

start the blog,

     u

      J    m

               p

    u

      J    m

               p

and then

    u

      J    m

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some more.

Here's to those heart-sinking high dives.

May we all take them, daringly.