We walked side by side around my neighborhood, protected from the harsh afternoon sun by a thick canopy of Poinciana and Oak trees. One of my dearest friends, Monica, had just flown down from Connecticut to visit my husband, Grif, and me in South Florida for a surprise weekend visit. Although I was seven years her senior, Monica and I had a kinship that just clicked. Our lives intersected in so many ways that it made for a rich and warm friendship. Only a year and a half ago, she helped me select the wedding dress that would elicit the biggest jaw drop from my new husband. Spaghetti straps and a built-in bustier did just the trick. Now, we were anxiously awaiting Monica’s upcoming wedding and were talking white dresses once again.
On our walk, the humid August air clung to our clothes as our flip-flops rhythmically slapped the flat, concrete sidewalk. As Monica and I rounded a quiet street corner, our conversation turned to the topic of personal anxieties and fears. “What’s the one thing you’re most afraid to do? Mine’s public speaking,” Monica answered before I could get a word in. While I didn’t enjoy public speaking, it didn’t make me violently ill, like it apparently did for Monica.
My go-to answer for my biggest fear was skydiving, the one outdoor activity that I refused to do. Unlike most people, I did not have an inherent fear of heights. Rather, my fear of skydiving was born twenty-five years prior, when I first arrived as a freshman at college in upstate New York. Situated among picturesque waterfalls, Cornell University is in the town of Ithaca, which has earned the apt moniker, “Ithaca is Gorges.” The stunning geological formations carved by millennia of flowing water attracted many students over the years to participate in cliff jumping. As an emboldened Environmental Science student, I considered cliff jumping to be an important rite of passage into my collegiate years.
For my first-ever jump, I chose the closest location I could find – the footbridge over Beebe Lake on campus. I dragged my boyfriend at the time with me for moral support. We stripped down to our swimsuits and procrastinated by arguing over who should go first. I don’t remember who did, but I do remember climbing over the cold, stone railing of the footbridge and confidently jumping off. It must have been only a few seconds, but I remember being mid-air with the panicked thought, When will I ever reach the water?! The intense pull of gravity must have suspended time, as I hung in freefall for what felt like an eternity. When the lake water finally came up to meet me thirty-five feet down, its liquid coldness enveloped me with shocking relief. I never went cliff jumping again.
The last thing I wanted was to re-experience that same intense feeling of freefall by going skydiving. “But it’s so much fun!” Monica implored, bouncing next to me. I might have rolled my eyes at her as we walked the last block home together, our long shadows skirting the sidewalk behind us.
Later that night, as I was getting ready to jump into bed with my new husband of ten months, I considered that maybe my biggest fear was freefall of another kind. Perhaps letting go and falling into the unknown and unknowable spaces of my life was truly my biggest fear. To keep moving forward when there was no solid ground beneath my feet.
As I brushed my teeth before bed, I thought about the times in our lives when courageous acts of freefall are needed. Like loving when there is no guarantee. All the praises, poems, and presents do not ensure everlasting love. We can try to bind love to us with rings, rituals, and anniversaries, but in reality, love may disappear tomorrow or the next day. Circumstances and people are constantly changing. Choosing to love is the ultimate act of freefall. We are sustained only by our faith that the watery depths will come up and reach us, day in and day out. Every day in marriage, we must choose to live suspended in love.
I placed my toothbrush in its holder and turned off the bathroom light. Falling into bed, I embraced my husband. Another day choosing love. Although I was slowly getting more comfortable living and loving in freefall, some days I still wished my biggest obstacle was public speaking. I rolled over and turned off the bedroom light, excited for wedding dress shopping with Monica tomorrow.
love, Lexy
