Fears (Part 1: Vertigo)

I’ve been thinking about limits lately, and how big a window they provide for understanding ourselves. In particular I’ve been thinking about fears and what makes one ok to explore and one untouchable.

This is the first of two posts exploring my personal fears and where they come from.

I’m going to talk about falling.

I would stress the distinction between a fear of heights and vertigo. Yes I’m scared of heights, bloody terrified of them. But along with that also comes dizziness, loss of bearings, and that tiny niggling urge to leap when confronted with severe drops. Even when sitting in the balcony of a theatre I sometimes find it hard to concentrate because of the awareness of the huge looming space in front of me, sucking me in.

I hate it.

If I had to pick the one thing I have always had nightmares about, it’s falling. Usually preceded by desperately clinging to something above me, a ledge, or some unhelpfully obtuse bit of architecture. Finally letting go and plummeting into oblivion.

I love it.

At school I took rock climbing, on seaside holidays I would gleefully peer over the edges of cliffs. I’ve scrambled up I’ll advised bits of mountain on my own miles from help or mobile phone reception and fucking loved every moment of it. The two things highest on my bucket list are bungee jumping and solo parachuting.

I can’t help watching things like Harrison Ford in Blade Runner, Sean Bean in Goldeneye or Jack Nicholson in Batman with a mixture of horror and excitement.

Falling is at once the most terrifying and fascinating thing, and I wish I could explain why, but I can’t. It’s primal, it’s apriori and I fucking love it.