A Photo A Day For 6 Months: Day ~ 84 Is That A Cannonball?
"There may be a great fire in our soul, yet no one ever comes to warm himself at it, and the passers by see only a wisp of smoke."
-Vincent Van Gogh
I think I have shared in the past about my fear of fire. I would like to say that since that time I have worked on it, but no, haven't done a thing about it. I am working on my fear of flying, by booking Alan and I on a nifty little plane ride, featuring an areal tour of the San Francisco bay. Alan is still amazed that I did that, but I have come to believe that it makes NO sense sitting here, waiting to get old, and die. I mean, if nothing else has been learned in my 50 years, it's that there is NO guarantees. I could be sitting right here, posting a blog entry, and have a meteor hit me. Or perhaps someone in a 747 takes a poopy, flushes it, and by some stupid random series of events, the poop is inadvertently dropped out the bottom of the plane, landing directly on top of my head. Or I could maybe be hit by a wayward cannonball. Hey, just a few months ago, there was an incident, with a wayward cannonball, that took place here in the Bay Area. No one was hit by it, thank goodness, but it had all the potential for great disaster. I am kinda sure that if I had been living in that neighborhood, that cannonball would have found me.
I really do.
I don't know if I need to address my fear of fire at this point in my life. I have been living with it for 47 years. Although I suppose if I did make the effort to fix it, I could go to my grave in perfect mental health, and those at my funeral could say... "Well, at least she worked on that stupid fear of fire she had, but isn't it ironic she died doing what she loved... making triple decker S'mores?" I think the attendees at my funeral would be both proud of me, and also have an interesting story to share with friends. So that would be a good thing... right? See, I could get over my fear of fire not for myself, but for my friends. Yeah. That sounds like a plan. But on the other hand, whose to say my future demise couldn't come from some other equally interesting event. Like perhaps... dying from... oh say... constipation... which... don't laugh... has been known to happen. If that happened, then my friends could always say, "She had some problems, but she was doing what she loved to do, she was working on her shit."
Hmmmm. I am going to think about thinking about getting over my fear of fire a little bit longer... no reason to act hastily.