But I've never been a live-in-the-moment type of person. I feel like my whole life has been for the future, k-12 school has led up to college, my luck (good and bad) with relationships has helped me realize what I value and has helped me appreciate the relationships I already have.
Patrick suggested I live in the moment.
He said it so simply, as if all I have to do is click my heels three times and everything will be alright. I wish it were that easy. I feel like he's experienced so much of life that he's not afraid, and I've experienced so little that I can't help but fear any and everything.
There's so much I want to do, place I want to visit, but I'm so afraid. When you're raised thinking that death could be off the bottom of a cliff, the bravery to jump off of it is hidden deep down. Even though I have a parachute, my mind races with what could go wrong. What if my parachute tears suddenly? What if I jump or land the wrong way and break a bone? What if I find myself in danger and no one is around to help me?
"You think too much," Patrick told me on a separate occasion.
I'm aware that I do, but I can't help it. I want to analyze and figure out some way to be secure in my life, to be safe and happy. I guess Patrick fascinates me so because I feel like he's been where I am before. He's overcome the obstacles that constrict me and emerged victorious. He's triumphed the one thing I struggle with the most: the self. He loves himself, he does what makes him happy, I don't yet know that I can say the same. Maybe that's why I feel the need to jump.
I've been looking at the other parachutes in the distance and wondering what is holding me back. It's an itching now, a desire tied to emotion, bound tightly by fear.
The day I can jump, feel the wind and the Earth around me, glide, bank, and then land roughly will be the day I can breathe.
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