What is it about cliffs that makes them so enticing? What is it exactly that makes otherwise sane, rational people feel the need to walk right up to the edge and peer over? Furthermore, what is it that makes us think that hitting the bottom is going to be any less painful than the last time we jumped off? And yet, we leap time and again, hoping that this is the time the net will magically appear to catch us. We hold our breaths and pray as we take that first step off and begin to free-fall.
Oh and what a glorious feeling it is - the falling. The wind rushes past noisily, blocking out all other sounds and senses until the only thing left is the blissful feeling of complete freedom. Even the nagging voice reminding you that the ground is looming is quieted in that first instant. As the ground draws nearer though, that voice grows louder and more insistant that you hear its simple truth: you are going to hit the ground and it is going to hurt like hell.
In those moments we are torn in opposite directions, trying to prepare for the inevitable and desperately clinging to those final moments of free-falling bliss; all the while, still waiting for the net to appear. It is not until the point of impact, when the ground slams into us, that we fully accept what we have known in our hearts all along: there was never really any net at all.