Today I had the weirdest (or should I say craziest) thought when I woke up. It wasn't a dream because it made me completely forget whatever dream I was having. It was an idea and an intense realization of it.
The thought I had was of skydiving, and how immensely terrifying it must be to jump off a plane 30,000 feet in the air. I see people doing it all the time on TV, know people who have done it, and have toyed with the possibility that once I have racked up enough courage I may one day do it; but no, once I had this vivid visualization, I realized this is not something I want to do.
The image that suddenly came to me was that if I were in a plane (in a plane! I'm scared just being in a plane miles up in the air, with the doors closed!) I would be way too frightened to jump off it thousands of feet down. I could imagine how I would feel if the doors were open, the air rushing through violently, the noise of it beating at my eardrums. And the height. Oh, the height! Of seeing all those things on the ground as teeny tiny dots. And the thought that I would be jumping into it, falling, falling, falling. And someone on the plane telling me to jump. Jump?! NOOO Way! Are you crazy? Why would I jump? Why???
Why would I jump off a plane miles off the ground? Other people do it, and they survive. But I can't. I don't think I ever could, now that I really think about it. It's not because I don't think I would survive. I think most likely I would. Most people do. It's not even the fear (although it's a big factor), because I like overcoming fears -- it makes me feel masterful. And that would be a great fear to overcome. It is just that, why would I scare myself like that? For the thrill? But what good would it actually do me?
That is where I came up with the idea for this post today. The "Thank God I'm Alive" Effect, the reason why we do such crazy outlandish things, risk life and limb is for the feeling at the end of "I overcame, I conquered, Thank God I'm Alive!" But how long does that effect really last? And does it change you profoundly as a person? Does it make your life better to have done it?
When I was a kid, I used to walk to the library myself. It was only two blocks from my home. One time, as I crossed the street, I hadn't looked both ways (I know, shame on me). There was a crosswalk, but no stop sign for the cars to know to stop. Having driven now I realize that that's a dangerous situation for a pedestrian. Anyway, as I skipped across the street unaware, I suddenly heard the screeching of car tires and turned to see three vehicles stopping before me. The van that was right before me was inches (and I mean, inches) from me. I was face to face with its grill and it was higher than me. And the lady in the van yelled to me in a concerned but admonishing tone, "You're lucky I didn't hit you! You need to watch out!" To which I then went right on walking along thinking how lucky I had been. And that was it.
I mean, I was a child, and I still recall the incident and think about it from time to time. But did it really have any lasting effect on who I became? I don't know. But I know this, I have known people who have gone skydiving, and you would never know it to look at them. It doesn't seem to have changed them or their lives to great effect. It hasn't made them happier, more appreciative, more full of life like you might imagine. My coworker, in particular, who herself admitted she was on the shy side, had told me she thought that the experience would change her, and that's why she did it. But after she did it, it was done, and there was no lasting effect from it.
And so it makes me wonder: all these risks that we take -- the drugs, the life-threatening adventures -- to get a thrill. Is it really worth it? Once the thrill is gone, then what? Or do different people react differently to life-threatening experiences? Do some people just take it in stride? Or does the very nature of taking such risks lead only to contentment? Once the risk is gone and overcome, it is almost forgotten. We only feel the fear when it is before us. But when it is after us, it goes away, and so does the appreciation we felt at that moment we survived death.
There was a really great Simpsons episode in the beginning about this very topic. In it, Homer thinks he's going to die. His family had gone to a sushi restaurant and Homer, being Homer, had ordered a rare delicacy, a blowfish that had to be cut in the right areas or would turn out poisonous. The chef of the hour being indisposed with Mrs. Krabapple, one of the underling cooks deigned to serve the dish for Homer. When the chef found out (after Homer ate it, of course), he deemed that Homer must have been poisoned by the inexperienced cook. Homer then went to Dr. Hibbert, who told him if he did in fact, eat the poisoned fish, he would die within a day. And so, Homer, really believing he would die, wrote up a list of what he wanted to do on his last day. He wrote things like see the sunrise, listen to Lisa play the sax, teach Bart to shave, be intimate with Marge. The day didn't always go as planned -- with him oversleeping and missing the sunrise and ending up in jail at one point -- but for the most part, he had a really wonderful day spending his last remaining moments with the people he loved. It was a touching episode. And in the end, he didn't die. He didn't eat the poison after all. And when he finds out, he's so excited and grateful, he vows to make the most of his life. But then the next scene they show him sitting there eating and watching TV, wasting his life away again. He didn't learn anything.
It was a great episode. A great episode. It was touching, and it really summed up the truth of life. You appreciate it most at the moment you feel that it might be taken away from you. But when you are living and going through the motions of life, you forget how lucky you are just to be alive. You take it for granted.
I suppose the point of this post was me trying to figure out if I really needed to go skydiving to have that appreciation for my life. But it seems to me, from the people I've met and from other people's experiences, that's not the case. You forget. And so, it is not the life-threatening experience you need to change you profoundly (although it does at times), even though that's what the movies tell you. Years ago, I thought that's what I needed. But in reality, what I really needed is just what Socrates said, to "Know Thyself." Meditate. I know I keep going back to it, but it's true. Nothing has changed me so profoundly as that simple act. It's all right there in you, and yet we keep seeking the answer everywhere else but inside ourselves.
Will I ever go skydiving? Who knows? Maybe one day when I'm brave enough (or crazy enough). (Yes, I've changed my absolute no since the beginning of this post.) But I know I will not do it seeking a life-altering experience. Seeking a thrill, yes, but not something that will change me profoundly and make me appreciate my life. I know that that can't be found in one moment of risk-taking. That takes some deep and serious soul-searching to accomplish, along with a little reminder every day to appreciate everything life has to offer.
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