When I was a kid, maybe three or four years old, I used to
wish I could fly. I saw how effortlessly birds flew and thought if they could
do it then so could I. My parents told me I wasn’t a bird and could not fly so
don’t try it. But, of course, I didn’t believe them. I wasn’t dumb enough to
jump off a tall building or anything; I limited my attempts, my experiments, to
leaping off porches and flapping my arms. As it turned out, my parents were
right, I couldn’t fly, and I eventually gave up on the idea.
Last week, I spent a few days rebuilding a deck. This was a
multi-level deck with stairs and railings—you know, the fun kind to work on!
I’m not being facetious, I really do like doing carpenter work, and adding a
little complexity to the equation just makes it better.
Part of the refurbishing included taking out the stairs,
then rebuilding and relocating them. But first, I planned on using them to get
everything to the upper portion of the deck. Once that part was mostly finished,
I tore down the steps.
So, there I was, in the middle of the project, immersed in
my work, and everything was going as planned. The old staircase was gone but
having a bit of work left on the upper deck, I climbed up to finish it off.
Then standing up, with my back to the steps—or where the steps used to be—I
turned to head down. By the time I saw the empty space—and the big drop to the
lower level—I was already committed. So, I just jumped.
Guess what? I still can’t fly! But the good news is, at age
51, I’m still able to jump off a deck, land on both feet, and not break
anything in the process! ~
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