Going to the edge and jumping off

Read this piece from the New Yorker. It is written by Jhumpa Lahiri and is a brief about the journey to becoming a writer.

A couple of things stood out.
"I listen to him, and at the same time I have learned not to listen, to wander to the edge of the precipice and to leap. ... Born of my inability to belong, it is my refusal to let go."


I know a few friends of mine who have followed their heart. The X is one of them so is Theater Namesake. I admire them. In a way, they have managed to do exactly what they want and quit what they were doing for no other reason other than wanting to follow their heart.


I want to do it too. But I haven't figured out what it is that I want to do. And till the catharsis is complete, I am holed up here today. The X called it a parking spot. Then I used to make fun of her. Today I realize it is exactly what I am doing. I am not going to the edge of the precipice and taking the plunge.


Years earlier, in another city (Bombay to be precise), I had gone off on a trek followed by rappelling down a rock face in the midst of a small waterfall. I remember being all "James Bondish" till I reached that end and then fear gripped me. I wouldn't go down. I was ready to quit. But the trek organizer was not going to give up on me. He had seen enough of such people.


He told me, "either you go down on your own or I push you down." I obediently went down. And even through the pain and the fright, I remember a certain exhilaration. On having done it.


I think I need that threat today again as I contemplate where I am going. I need to stand at that edge, look down, feel the fright, want to give up but take the plunge finally.


So who is going to deliver that threat?

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