Prompted

What would you be doing if there was no hand to stop you?

I’m clinging to the thinning thread of my life, eyes closed tight, afraid to look at the unfamiliar sea of possibility below. The water is as deep as I can imagine, and knowing this terrifies me. There is a strong wind fighting me, pushing me, pulling me; it sends waves higher and higher until my feet are wet with temptation, soaking into me and making me heavy with its enticing taunt. I tell myself to let go but stubbornly I keep holding on. My grip becomes desperate; my fingernails dig into my palms. Fear of failure. Fear of success. Fear of dying, of living, of changing. It’s been a lifetime since I accomplished anything even though my calendar only admits several years – I guess I know more about myself than time does. I tell myself to let go, and I say it over and over again, but still I’m in the same place I’ve always been. I finally realize that the only thing stopping me is myself; my hands have been holding on to the past because it’s all they know to hold. Slowly, apprehensively, one hand reaches for the future, then the other, leaving every bit of comfort behind me. But it doesn’t feel like falling. It feels like flying.