The Art and Fear of Falling

There is always the fear of falling after a certain age. The beckoning of the cane and wheelchair. When the weather changes one ponders the navigating of slippery green leaves and the sneaky black ice. There is no real protection, no perfect shoe or boot. All one’s life a person tries to find balance and how to balance things. We juggle life the way we juggle our fears. Now and then we fall and we drop ourselves. Our inability to balance a banking account can result in falling into poverty and homelessness.

Our society embraces youth and too often reckless speed.

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We fear being last or labeled slow. We fear aging and the slowing down of the body, the loss of beauty, and each turn we must make around the sun.

The fear of aging is like the surprising hole one discovers in a favorite sweater or jacket. How did it get there? How could this happen? Aging often dates and goes steady with loneliness and the fear that no one will be around to help you walk across the room. There comes a time when we are all pushed and placed in a corner. We will hear the whispers of loneliness when the phone no longer rings. The living will go on living and the old will find themselves waiting for death’s arrival.

There is the fear of having that final conversation with oneself. The fear of silence when what we so desperately want is conversation, companionship, and community. The fear of falling too often coincides with falling out of love—the disappearance of the caress, the vanishing of the kiss. Soon one fears the empty bed as much as one fears the empty coffin and falling forever into darkness.

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