Don't look down is what you say to someone afraid of great heights, a ploy to keep those fears in the back of your mind, its furthest reaches, behind childhood memories only occasionally brought from storage, perhaps by mistake or accidental trigger. I have allowed my curiosity for old boxes to keep me from my tasks-at-hand, spending far too much time with those lost reminiscences, turning over packages that should remain forgotten. The threat of digging too deep, uncovering a day of near drowning, a night of violence, a morning of shame, I come across an older fear, and wind up looking down.
Don't look back is what you say to someone afraid of great regrets, a strategy for repressing the thought of harsh words, and unfair reproaches. Even more than the fear of heights, the fear of regret the provenance of the past. Dwelling in memory, turning over nights without apologies, mornings without forgiveness, days of anesthesia. I wonder why I would have committed these acts, and wind up looking back.
Don't look ahead is what you say to someone afraid of great loss, but every year on this occasion, this anniversary of steel, I manage to imagine the color of the coming sky, remembering that not all animals see the sunset in hues of red and orange, and wonder how I might survive transformed into one of these creatures, blinded. It is the fear of losing your hand that keeps me from delving into the future for all but one day a year. Today is that day. Today the heights, the regrets and the loss will be put back into storage. Today, we look ahead.