Dissolve into a canyon in Malibu.
Breathe. I repeat this simple motion, harnessing my power to control the inevitable shaking that is rippling throughout my body. I look down. Fuck. I shouldn’t have done that. My brain is sounding the alarm to retreat. You don’t have to do this, Alex. There is absolutely no good reason for you to be out here.
Hmm. Solid point. Score one for the rational mind.
I let go of the rope above me. For a perfectly clear moment, I relax into the one-inch piece of webbing beneath me. It sinks and sways as I attempt to flow instead of combatting its natural movement. Against all odds and my better judgment, I take a step. The line moves more than I expect it to, but I manage to finagle my left foot ahead of my right. Hold it. Breathe. I’m doing it. Holy fucking shit. I’m highlining.
Oooops. That one moment of arrogance was all it took. My torso shifted, my knees buckled. Without any time to think, I nosedive off the slackline. Careening to my death, 100 feet below, I know I did my best. All I can do now is wait to paint the rocks with my face. It’s been a good run. Tell my pugs I love them.
Like a lightning bolt ripping through an ebony sky, the first flash courses through me. I’m 9 years old, floating down a lazy river at WaterCountry USA. My family is having the time of their lives, raw-dogging their way down water slides with unlimited joy. Not me. I’m scream-crying to get attention. Older kids and their friends snicker at this scabbed-up piece of hamburger meat as he desperately tries to fill the pool with his own unhappiness. My family couldn’t be more embarrassed. I wish I knew how to have fun.
Star Wipe. I’m in sixth grade and in a moment of delirium, I mistakenly call my English teacher ”Mom.” The room erupts in laughter. I attempt to imitate my penis by crawling back inside myself to hide from this ridicule. They will never let me live this down.
Fade to White. My childhood bedroom. I’m 15 and have gotten flabbergastingly stoned with my friend and two other hardknock teenagers we met earlier that day. I’ve snorted the first and only line of Ritalin I’ll ever do in my life. The substances are having an all-out grudge match within my body and I don’t know which direction to root for. My friend Bruce looks at me as I suck on a bottle of Cheez-Whiz. He spits laughter as I drain the chemical orange goop into my mouth.
“Dude, be careful. There’s acid in that. How much did you eat?”
The can is almost empty. I’ve never taken a psychedelic. I've heard the stories of the Charles Manson-looking motherfucker that ate too much LSD and started tearing off his skin in an attempt to peel himself like an orange. He never came back, and now, neither would I. All three degenerates continue cracking up as I run to the bathroom. Sobbing and mortified, I wait to die. Twenty minutes later, they informed me it was all a joke. I’m never eating Cheez-Whiz again.
Crossfade to an over-priced hotel. Ocean City, Maryland. It’s Senior Week and I’ve finally had enough liquid courage to tell my best friend my true feelings. She is my prom date, my everything, and I know my love is reciprocal. We’ll kiss, long and deep as if we are stuck in the final scene of a teenage romance movie. For the next week our friends will celebrate our inevitable immersion. We'll hold hands, share ice cream cones, and get sand in our nastiest areas. We will explore our awkward teenage bodies as the waves crash overhead. What could be more perfect?
I head to her room with all the confidence I can muster. When I walk in I'm greeted with a pornographic nightmare. There is another man, one she met earlier that day, fracking her oil as if it’s the last energy source on Earth. I saunter back to my room, look out over the ocean from the balcony, and slam my fist into the wall until my knuckles drip red. This is going to be a long 6 days.
Hard cut back to Malibu. The rope attached to my harness tightens and stretches until I’m dangling 10 stories up, secured only by a metallic ring on the slackline. The entire fall lasted half of a second, just enough time to regale a few of my most embarrassing moments. An exasperated, uncontrollable laugh escapes my mouth as I realize, I’m not only still breathing; I’m fucking ALIVE.
Voiceover as the camera zooms out of the canyon: “If you died today, what would flash before your eyes? What are you holding on to? Why do moments of pain stand the test of time yet happiness can feel so fleeting?
Rack focus back to me. It’s time to let go. To embrace jubilation. To allow the best moments to squash the negative emotions into total oblivion. I know how to do this.
Letting go of that line was exactly what I needed. While I only took one step, it would be one of the most important movements I ever make. One small step for man, one giant step toward creating a more fruitful life. I’m not only relieved; I’m motivated.
The view is gorgeous. Mountains, oceans, and valleys for twenty miles. Take it in. Relish in the rush of every cell pulsating, attempting to explain to my brain that I am in fact, still on Earth. Still in living human form.
Gathering my strength, I climb the leash to clip my overhang onto the slackline. As I pull myself back toward the cliff, I’m ready. Only this time, fear will not be part of the equation.
Whenever my final breath is emitted, love will envelop me in it’s warm embrace, letting me know I did my best. I’ll see my wife and my children dancing in a field to our favorite music. I’ll stand on stage as a sold-out theatre gives me a standing ovation, my friends and family filling the first few rows, beaming with pride. Isn’t that what life is all about?
Back on the cliff, I look out over the ravine. Time to take another step.
Fade to Black.