I stare down at the chipped polish on my toes as they graze a rock with caution. Acutely aware of my heartbeat, I dry swallow nothing. On this June day, the sun’s palms reach down hot and heavy ‘til the wind bursts through, pushing them from my shoulders. Atop a 30-foot cliff at the edge of a deep lake, the breeze is to be expected. So is the adrenaline. So are the resonating shivers. And so is the frozen form my blood assumes when I finally make a blind jump, the air thick between my fingers.

Tess Johnson

They say the quickest way between two points is a straight line. But as I draw this one through the air, the seconds feel endless. Risks are magical in their ability to manipulate time — as in the Dalí painting, the clock melts and assumes new meaning as total uncertainty replaces understanding. When the water finally surrounds me, I feel relief and euphoria. Frightened, overwhelmed, and now inexplicably satiated, I float for a moment, glorious.

In this moment at the quarry lake, surrounded by friends both human and insect, my jump woke me from a slumber. My heartbeat was so loud I swear it echoed from the walls of rock around me. I could taste happiness and breathe satisfaction. I had been perfectly comfortable perched like a lizard on the rocks above, but the mysterious need to plunge was far more exciting.

Guaranteed calm versus delicious uncertainty? Dipping into the latter makes us more human.

The metaphor is evident. In our short lives, we will have opportunities to leap from comfort. When the rocks are jagged or the fall is too dangerous, we will know. When the distance is just enough, though, the same is true. A heart longs to feel mystery and like any muscle, will atrophy with neglect. Mystery reminds us why we have blood and limbs.

Pain of rejection and fear of repetition leaves us paralyzed. It’s dangerously easy to slip into the life of an emotional or physical hermit. Reluctance is a side effect of the inevitable disease of experience. Born naïve and green, life’s chapters leave us withered. We grow jaded as we unlearn Disney-esque expectations for romance, realizing we are promised nothing but today.

We inhabit a bizarre and uncomfortable reality where love — our biggest obsession — is our rarest commodity. Connection is a gamble. Sex is a gamble. But the fact that we, among millions of atoms, exist is astounding and humbling. What beauty we create when our atoms overlap perfectly.

And our heartbreak, our trials, our tribulations? They are equally beautiful because they color our successes by comparison. Eliminate grey, and red means nothing.

Not that we should drop everything and have endless orgies in the street — but we must acknowledge the beauty of being human through meaningful contact and emotional risk. Casting lines into uncertainty, we hope that our hearts will tangle like fishing lures. Human beings exist to make jumps and to cast lines — to allow ourselves to play and feel the distinct pulse of the world. We do our corporal vessels the greatest disservice when they go unused.

Accepting vulnerability is not easy. Because easy is fine, but it is not beautiful. A little agony defines the essence of ecstasy. Hurt will come and hurt will go. People will change us.
But we can keep their memories as gifts and lessons. Knowing nothing but dashing forward, we can abandon our warm rocks and feel the water around us. Touching the wild and the strange, floating in a new way.

In retrospect, the comfort zone seems anything but.

— Tess Johnson is a senior from Savannah  majoring in anthropology