Base Jumping–or Not
I’m standing on the roof of a tall building with a friend. He’s trying to get me to jump off, tells me the backpacks we’re wearing will release parachutes and we’ll be fine. He jumps, and I watch him plunge/drift away. I can’t do it.
Again: I’m standing at the top of a cliff, out in some kind of canyon territory. I’m with a friend. Backpacks with parachutes. They jump. I can’t do it. To my right, some guy takes off on an aqua-green hang glider. He’s obviously a novice, but he catches a wind current and soars into the sky, somewhat awkwardly, but he’s fine. It looks lovely. I can’t do it.
I’m atop a building–again. Above me are some guys in some kind of hot air balloon contraption. They look like they’re going to careen right into another building, but they don’t. And there’s me and my ridiculous backpack. How the hell do I know it’s going to open? I think. I really am not up for dying. Can’t do it.
Multiple opportunities to leap. Can’t bring myself to it. Hmm. The question is, exactly which part of my life is that about?
