Heady Polarities

Balance is a funny thing. It doesn't sound very interesting. Yes, the most prudent choice is probably somewhere in the middle; wisdom may engender caution, but chances are it won't get your blood pumping much faster. But fifty feet of open air between you and the ground, on the side of sheer cliff, will do the trick. You can't convince your adrenaline gland of the relative safety offered by a harness and rope. That's a lot of air. So you talk yourself down: focus on moving up; channel the hormones pumping through your flesh on digging your toe into that tiny, tiny foothold. For the first fifty feet, that worked fine. Now, you're at your limit. The reach is far, the foothold is only about a foot and a half below your hand, and all of this is on top of 3 foot overhang that leaves pretty much nothing too the imagination: over there, is death. The biochemicals kick up a notch. The logic your chemistry never bought is sounding a lot less, well, logical. What if the guy on the other end of the rope fucks up? What if the rock breaks? You remember that fear is just your genes way of keeping you alive. This is fucking crazy. That is balance, and it is not boring. It is not a middle-ground you reach by unweighting the scales, it is a storm in a teacup; kilotons against kilotons, and who knows how little will send the whole thing tumbling. You can press on, focus on moving your hands and shove down the fear, but you might just meet the end your bones are warning you of. Not quite such a dull type of balance.