Afraid of heights…

… or fear of falling?

The question was posed in a magazine, found at my usual coffee shop, on the usual day that I take my one coffee a week, with my usual order (skim cap, take-away cup with a socially unacceptable amount of froth) …

Answering the question confirmed the latter …

I can stand on the edge – wonder at the vista – revel in the possibility that the horizon offers. Even 90 degree’d and eyes forward – tethered to top and the bottom – harnessed and carabinered … no real risk …

It’s when I look down, when I can perceive the drop; when the involuntarily-conjured image of my gravity-pulled body is vivid in mind – then primal instinct to grab onto something, anything, to stop from falling overrides logic and mutes calming words.

It is not a fear of heights – it is a fear of falling from the height at which I find myself.


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