Child Cliff
I am on the precipice of pregnancy.
I am inching to the edge, sometimes dropping to my knees for fear of falling, so that I can peer down at my possible future. I see a small group of my friends far below. Really far. I barely see them, but from a distance I can make out their small companions, some still in their arms, others old enough to entertain themselves with a book. I can hear my friends calling up to me, “Come down!” They say, “I never imagined I could feel a love like this,” and “I wouldn’t trade her for the world.” But their calls seem thin and wavering in all the space between us.
I crawl backwards, retreating from the precipice. Turning to look behind me, I find friends there too. They’re closer, more accessible, just a short stroll away across a flat plane. I hear their calls clearly: “I don’t know, it’s a lot of responsibility,” they say. “It’s so limiting,” and “I would hate to repeat the mistakes my parents made.” It seems safer up here.
I wonder if I should just stay. If I forget about the edge over there, I could have a nice life up here. Then, I look over at my husband. Before we got married, we stared over the edge of that precipice together and agreed that one day we would jump. He’s known for most of his life that he wanted to. For most of mine, I wondered why people ever did.
I saw people jump and get hurt. I saw people jump just because they thought they had to and spend the rest of their lives staring up, wishing they were back where I am now. I saw people commit to jumping together, but one to pulled back at the last possible moment, so the other could only twist in the air to stare back at her traitorous partner as he watched her fall.
I don’t know exactly what happens when you get to the bottom. Most people seem fine enough, if a little weathered. I’ve read some books about it, but according to everyone down there, the right words, the words that fully prepare a person to make this journey, don’t exist anywhere. They just say, “It changes everything.”
I like my life now; I don’t know if I want it to change.
I do know that as long as the edge is nearby, I’ll keep toeing my way up to it and peering over. And if I woke up one day and saw that I no longer had a way down, I imagine I’d harbor a tangible absence. I’ve had ecstatic visions of falling and who I might meet when I arrive and who he might become. I want to meet him.
I know that when I jump, it will be my choice. I’m almost ready.
Today I’m listening to:
