I walk a tightrope. Everyday I step out of bed and onto that thin wire dangling above the ground. On days like today I walk steadily without a wobble, aware that there is a drop but able to go for whole minutes, sometimes whole hours, without thinking about it. I walk the wire all day until I clamber off and into bed.
But I am always aware of the precarious nature of my daily walk. I wait for a gust of wind, a lapse in concentration, a push from outside. A push from inside. And then the wobble, the fear of falling, the worry of uncertainty – will I right myself or not?
Some days I wobble and regain my balance. Some days I cling on by the tips of my fingers. Some days this goes on all day and others it’s one brief sway and then I go on my way.
Some days I fall. It can take a long time to get back up.
But whatever happens, it’s tiring walking the tightrope, teetering on that thin path, exposed to the elements, afraid of a shake or a stagger. Even on the good days like today, it’s exhausting. I wait for the day I can put my feet on the carpet as I stumble out of bed in the morning.