Anything but Boring

My life is boring. I could easily dress it up by using the word tedious or lackluster, but where’s the fun in that? If my life is boring, why not full fledge it into boringness and skip all the crap that makes it look exciting from the outside. Because, truthfully, underneath all those sprinkles and icing, there sits a slab of white plan cake that is simply made from the box. 

            It would be easy. Easy to laugh when people walk by. Easy to surround myself with things that are anything but boring but will always result in fading. It would be so easy. But no. Instead, I follow my dull timeline and schedule that I call a life and wake up at six every morning and go to bed at 10 at night. Between those distinctions of start and finish to my day, the filling is a blur.      The lines of a faint A marking a test, or a few hugs from my friends barely make it to the surface of what I remember from the last 16 hours. Because every day is the same.

The same boring day.     

            So that is what brought me here. I stand now with my hands stretched out wide. The wind is thrown past my silhouette knowing it won’t land anywhere; always drifting. My toes curl over the rock in anticipation of falling into nothing. I’m not scared because for once in my life, I don’t know what’s coming and oddly, it brings me comfort. There are no answers, no schedule, no guidelines, nor rules. All there is, is me, the unmistakable wind, and the peaceful water below.

            I was always afraid of heights. Not because of falling. It was never because of the fear of falling. That was the exciting part that could never be put under the category of boring. No, it wasn’t for the fear of falling. The fear came from what I was always tempted to do resulting in throwing myself over the edge. It would feel exhilarating, breathtaking and endless.

            And it does.

            I gave the fall my attention, as an idler might observe the feat of a juggler, without interest in the outcome. My heart swells as I become airborne and my feet prepare for the catch of the water below but it never happens. Once peacefully closed, my eyes spark open in fear. I give the fall my attention, as a I look down as the force of the wind pushes my curls to catch violently behind my presence. I’m only half way down as my once closed mouth opens and lets out a cry that can never be mistaken for anything but fear. The thrill and adrenalin enter my body just like I craved all along but now, all I wanted at that moment was to share with everyone that my life was still boring.

Not life threatening.

 I’m anything but suicidal when I chose to do this. But now I fear it’s too late. My fall is graceful and the moment moves forward taking it’s time before I finally hit the water. I think it’s the end. I believe I have no choice but to greet the overflow of cold, lush, water that envelopes me into her stomach. Rippling upon my face, the separate sounds of waves mock to suck me under for good. Sun shimmers slightly through the murky water, over my eyelids like a reflection of a broken mirror. The expansion of my chest falters under the force of the blow that now punctures the center of my back, interrupting my peace. Shuddering, my muscles strain as I pull myself up from the water, onto the rock. My tears and the ocean water mend together; both soak my face with salty moisture.

Scanning my surroundings, the waves crash over my body, make questioning my balance vital. My eyes start overflowing with hope as I carefully step from rock to rock. I look at the shore on the brink of the ocean, saw the individual rocks, the small dimples and the cracks of each pebble—saw the very dust upon them, the road in the distance, the dark- layered sky, the light moon stretching its light from landscape to landscape.

I’m on the other side now, planting my feet on the soft grass that at one point, I never thought I would feel again between my toes. Tilting and shuddering, the wind once again, outlines my silhouette in the dark night. My feet don’t hesitate to start walking home while my emotions are too exhausted to understand which way to go.

In the few moments, I am introduced on the road near the corner of the dark cliff and behind, a projecting point which conceal me from my impulse for excitement.  The power and control I have over my life hits me as I realize my future can be beautiful. The fall could’ve been fatal, and the beautiful things I have would be left behind. My heart swells as I look up into a bright light; a beacon of hope for a new beginning. As the light comes closer, I realize it isn’t just my imagination and happiness blurring my vision with this brightness. Morphing into two distinctive suns, the lights stare hauntingly at my soaked figure, like a pair of eyes.

Headlights.