personal achievement is only reached by jumping from the highest of heights and keeping from landing in the lowest of lows. this is how i feel when faced with a dilemma. i stand at the ledge and think about falling, the rush of blood, the thrill of flying, the joy of the moment. arms outstretched the little voice warns of consequences. please don't talk to me, i say.
1/4 of the way down, i realize that i have never felt alive. accomplishment is a feeling more than a fact, a smile whether produced by terrific sales numbers or high marks on the exam. 1/4 of the way down is the nicest you'll ever know, right before you really begin to pick up speed, right before the voice comes back online.
1/2 way down, the euphoria has passed, caught on a flagpole on the 45th floor. if you're lucky, you will have rotated at this point and are now looking up at sky, instead of down at concrete reality rushing to kiss your cheeks. you remember why you chose to jump, and can almost believe the brief moment was worth what's about to come.
3/4 of the way down is worse even than the landing; anticipation of consequence far more terrible than physical pain. you have time to pull out the photos of loved ones left behind, but by now your hands are shaking too badly and you are now limp, arms and legs outstretched, the muscles having given out, you are a helpless ragdoll. there's a reason they all fall this way, spinning slowly like a pinwheel.
upon landing, the physical pain mitigates the guilt; the numbness helps you stand again, walk slowly away from the launch point. there is a taxi on the corner. you cannot remember where you parked. he waives the fare, and drives you to an even taller building. the sign out front too inviting not to jump.