You’re standing at the edge of a cliff.

‘I’ve got you. It’s all going to be OK,’ whispers a voice on the wind. It’s the only one you can pick out from the clamor.

You’ve climbed so far to get here.

Some days you were dragged up – the wind pushed you, the rain beat you forward and on the best days the path cleared just a little.

You still remember getting lifted into the sky. You thought it was an act of God. Instead you were dropped, a short time later, onto the hard rock. That hurt. There’s a little piece stuck in your chest still. You were so high up and you were so sure you’d stay there. It’s still bruised. You’re not sure that scar will ever fade.

But you had to keep climbing.

And now you’re here.

It’s loud.

The wind won’t stop. It carries the whispers of the past, opinions and ideas, suggestions and warnings, from everyone you’ve met on your ascent so far. They all know something you don’t, they all would do it differently. But they aren’t you. You have to do this all on your own.

It’s not the kind of hill you can climb down. That’s not how life works. There’s only one way forward and it’s straight over the edge. You think you know what’s over there. But what if you’re wrong? You hope you’re going to land in the clouds. But what if there are sharks circling below, or jagged rocks or deep, deep water that will never let you see the surface again?

How does anyone ever know if they’re making the right choice? You want to be sure and you want to be safe. But there’s no safe, there’s no sure. There’s no crystal ball and there are no guarantees.

There’s just the edge.

And you’re all on your own up here. Sure, you can phone a friend but they can’t do it for you. This is your life. And the next hour, the next day, the next month – the next ten years – will be guided by what you do next. And that’s the truly terrifying part. This is the flap of a butterfly’s wing. This is the chaos theory in full effect. What you do next will echo through the rest of your life, for all your years to come. It will set the tone and the standard, the course and the coast. Are you ready for it? Can you handle the pressure?

You’ve already survived so much worse. Your heels are scabbed, your back aches, you’re sun burnt and wind-whipped, there’s sand in your eyes and under your fingernails. You’re so fucking done. And you’ve done so fucking much. And now you have to leave it all behind.

But that’s scary in itself. You have to let it all go. All the hurt and pain. You have to finally move on, tackle the next mountain (or molehill) of your life. You have to let go.


It’s for your own good really.

Are you ready for it? Are you ready to jump? You can’t hold on to anything once you do it. You have to forget the whispers and the people they came from. You have to forgive the people who hurt you. You have to forgive yourself. Can you do that?

It’s nearly time to jump. To fall. To fly. Whatever happens, you have to move. You have to keep going.

Don’t look back. You’re not going that way.

Just jump. Cry first if you have to. Feel sorry for yourself. Feel every ounce of hurt and pain that’s been inflicted on you and that you, in turn, have inflicted on those around you. Sob your little heart out for the mistakes and the misunderstandings of the past. Be sad.

Then jump. Do it with your whole body and all of your spirit. This isn’t the kind of thing you can fake or half-ass. Throw yourself into the future. Embrace it. Enjoy it. Remember that life happens for you not too you. You just have to know the difference and know that perspective is everything.



… Tell me what happens when you do?