I Keep on Falling

I used to be afraid of falling. Then I saw an actress do it professionally and I decided to learn how to fake a fall. For weeks during the fall of my sophomore year in high school I would walk over to my town’s church lawn and practice throwing myself to the ground. Safely, of course. I decided to learn how to roller-blade and do cartwheels to compliment my Free-falling 101. If they had all been real subjects I might have received a “C” in Roller-blading and a “B+” in Cartwheels. Free-falling, however, I would have passed with flying colors. Here’s how I know:

The other day I looked out the kitchen window down seventeen stories. I thought about what it would be like to fall or to have to jump. “Scary,” I thought. But I didn’t fully mean it. While the most I’ve fallen is the distance from my head to my feet, I do know what it feels like to fall. That feeling is the scary part. Now that the risk has been taken, the fear of the unknown is gone.

Taking risks is the unwritten connotation behind both “falling short” and “going too far.” Each implies that one must act in order to have an end result on either end of the spectrum. Ultimately the end result is the effect of a choice.

Sometimes the choice is made subconsciously from the very start. In my life, I’ve noticed this usually coincides with “falling short.” “Going too far” requires the choice to reach your goal. Afterwards is the problem. People have the tendency to want to take things to the next level without creating a new goal. This is where good intentions and bad results factor in. However, I have to applaud even the people who go too far. We’re made to learn from mistakes. Total contentment is like a teacher more interested in counting Myspace friends than teaching. Inactivity does not create or counteract change.

Now that it is my last week in China, I’ve been wondering how I’ve fared overall. When it comes to Chinese, I think there has been improvement. While I have fallen short in the last couple weeks, I still feel the desire to continue learning. It’s like the frog in the math equation; if, for every two inches a frog hops back it hops three inches forward, what is the distance it will have traveled in three minutes? The answer: further along than when it started. It didn’t take go backwards to continue going backwards! Eventually it will want to get somewhere so it keeps moving. What if it goes beyond its original destination into some dark, gloomy swamp? Just like us, the frog has its talents and can use them to get where he wants to go.

The hop is the risk, but it’s necessary. It can also be enjoyable. I truly believe that the journey— full of reckless, free-falling, stomach-flipping hops—is supposed to be full of heartache and joy.