As anyone can tell you, I’m a big believer in the consequences of inconsequential actions. Not that I want to be, so much. It would be nice, to, you know, really get mad at someone without worrying about the repurcussions. Or not even really mad, but just to… to… actually externalize my displeasure. Repression, you are mine enemy.
I was thinking about skydiving today. I’d really like to go skydiving. I’d love to accelerate to terminal velocity and then soar down to earth. But the 1% of me that knows that there is a chance (A CHANCE!) that the parachute might fail to open is worried about the millisecond of pain I’d feel before my life would be over. It’s amazing that I’ve overcome this fear in so many aspects of my life: flying, cycling, skiing, doing stupid stunts and other more personal things. And it’s shameful that it holds me back from so many other things that I’d probably love to do.
I’m sure that once I skydived, I’d love it. I’d love that feeling. I’d be scared out of my wits in free fall, and may never want to do it again, but at least I’d have done it. And the chances are so small that the parachute would [corrected to add] fail to open.