with the greatest of ease

I walked into the circus school last week for Little G's lesson and noticed that they were advertising two-for-one flying trapeze classes. Something clicked (snapped?) in me and suddenly I was hellbent on getting into that flying class so I emailed a friend who had recently expressed interest and by Wednesday afternoon we were all signed up. Which is how I came to find myself at the top of a very high platform this morning, all rigged up and ready to (HEP!) hop.

I'm not sure what was more therapeutic, signing up or the actual flying. After I registered for the class I felt like a new woman. Anything and everything was possible, I had a new lease on life. As I sit here on the couch, an hour post-class, I'm feeling a little month-to-month, if you know what I mean.

But the class? The class was amazing. Two straight hours of adrenaline. Climbing the ladder made me slightly woozy, standing on the platform got my stomach churning but jumping off was a breeze. By the end of the session I had mastered a simple trick and, as our penultimate fly, we even did a catch. The key, they taught us, was not to think, just listen for the commands and react. Given that I have to be in charge of two other lives every waking (and sleeping) minute of my life, being ordered to listen and not think was actually a huge relief, though reacting in time was a little bit of a challenge. I succeeded, however, in clearing my mind and following instructions until we got to the final hep of the final trick. I looked down and instantly knew that there was no way I was letting go.

The coaches said it's okay, that when you do flying trapeze you find out what you're really afraid of and that's a good thing. I'm still working out exactly what that means. Is it the falling and not the jumping that scares me most? Or should we just remember never to look down?