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DancingMind's avatar

How far out on the branch are you willing to venture?

Asked by DancingMind (5812 points ) November 6th, 2010

The further out you creep, the thinner and weaker it gets. So what keeps you crawling out there?
—Here on fluther?
—In your real life?
Are you scared it’ll break? ...Can it break? Or can you fly?

Observing members: 0 Composing members: 0

13 Answers

RealEyesRealizeRealLies's avatar

Fly? Not yet. But I have gotten over my fear of falling.

talljasperman's avatar

I’m sticking to walking on the ground

DrasticDreamer's avatar

Pretty damn far, I think. I’m not sure if I can fly, but there’s only one way to find out.

the100thmonkey's avatar

If you can’t support it, it won’t support you.

It’s a kind of quid pro quo relationship I have with facts.

YARNLADY's avatar

I used to push the envelop as the saying goes, but the older I get, the more cautious I get.

Frenchfry's avatar

I am afraid of heights . I’ll just watch.

Coloma's avatar

Come to the edge he said.
No, it’s too high
Come to the edge
no, we might fall

Come to the edge
and they came
and he pushed them
and they flew

forgot the author

I have jumped off so many cliffs and here I still am! ;-)

stardust's avatar

I’m learning to fly. I’ve fallen a couple of times, but you’ll have that.

Coloma's avatar

Note:

Author of poem, Apollinaire, greek philosopher

partyparty's avatar

I think this sums things up:

You can fly… but that cocoon has to go

But the risk—oh, the risk of leaving the swaddling
warmth of a cocoon. My cocoon. My status quo.
My. . . deadening security.
To leave the known,
no matter how confining it may be—for an unknown,
a totally new lifestyle—
oh, the risk!

Lord, my cocoon chafes, sometimes. But I know its
restrictions. And it’s scarey to consider the awful
implications of flight. I’m leery of heights. (Even
your heights.)
But, Lord, I could see so much wider, clearer
from heights.
And there’s an exhilaration about flight that I
have always longed for.
I want to fly. . .
if I could just have the cocoon to come back to.
Butterflies can’t.
Probably butterflies don’t even want to—
once they’ve tasted flight.

It’s the risk that makes me hesitate.
The knowing I can’t come back to the warm, undemanding
status quo.

Lord. . . about butterflies. . .
the cocoon has only two choices—
risk
or die
What about me?
If I refuse to risk,
do I, too, die inside, still wrapped in the swaddling
web?

Neizvestnaya's avatar

The more value or potential something holds for me then farther I’ll go. I can allow myself this because I know what it feels like to fall, to be blindsided, to be crushed against my active will and I’ve come through it all, so far. Enough anyway where I feel I’m capable of always rolling back into form, kind of like Mercury.

Are you scared it’ll break?
As @YARNLADY writes, the older I get the more cautious, the more I weigh the odds.

Can it break?
Oh yes, I usually gauge where I think is breaking point and try to run myself through scenarios of what I’ll do if it does. I usually think in terms of worst case, best case and acceptable then decide if I want to move at all.

Can you fly?
No but I’ve got a pretty poetic affect of falling.

stardust's avatar

@partyparty Thanks for that! :)

partyparty's avatar

@stardust you are very welcome :))

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