Some people live their lives like the kid at the roller rink,
clutching the rail and hugging the wall in terror of a fall.
“I could break something,” they say.
“It might hurt,” they say.
And perhaps it would, but I’ve read a lot of obituaries in my lifetime,
and none of them have ever said “Cause of death: a 2.5′ tumble to the ground at the roller rink.”
We fear loss,
We fear pain,
We fear the highly improbable,
We fear happiness, because we dread the fall from the heights.
And so we hug the wall, and we walk—never run—with scissors, and we never, ever, ever play with matches, ’cause that’s just a good way to get yourself burnt, don’t you know.
But maybe the fall, the pain, the burn, aren’t exactly what we think they are.
After all, nobody knows the true nature of a fire like a phoenix.