And then I remember what they always say about operations: that
there’s no such thing as a safe one. Every operation carries risks, including
the risk of death. (Oddly, the ‘risk of death’ one usually amuses rather than
alarms, but still I find myself wondering the day before whether this will be
the last time I do this, or see that, or contemplate the other.)
It reminds me of a recurring dream I had as a young child. I
was on the battlements of a castle or the top of some other old building. It
was dark and I knew I was required to jump off even though I couldn’t see how
far away the ground was. I was reluctant to do it, but eventually I leapt into
the unknown hoping it would be OK. And then I discovered that I could arrest my
fall and hang in the air for as long as I wanted to, but it produced an
increasingly uncomfortable sensation in my stomach. I knew that I couldn’t go
back; the only way to get rid of the sensation was to allow myself to fall and
hope it didn’t kill me, so that’s what I did. When I hit the ground I found that
I was quite undamaged and lying on a grassy bank in the sunshine with a calm,
comforting lake close by.
That was one of my most profound introductions to life and
it’s informed my response to difficult situations ever since. And so I’m hoping
that tomorrow’s landing will be soft. If it isn’t, thanks for reading.
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