Falling

There’s a moment that feels like falling. Forget for a moment that this moment does actually involve falling: or at least, the moment immediately following this moment. It’s amazing that something that is one thing can feel like something else: that experiences aren’t just what they are, but what they’re described as, what they feel like.

‘Falling’ is such a broad term to describe how you’re feeling anyway. It shouldn’t be. It’s quite clear what falling should feel like - a loss of your ability to stand, or a removal of the floor that works with gravity to keep you upright. But people apply it to other situations: falling in love, for example. And what does that even mean, to fall in love? If you fall in a pit of lava, even if you die a horribly burn-y death, you’ve still fallen and it’s not an entirely inappropriate word to use. In fact, it’s completely appropriate in those exact circumstances to describe the moment before you hit the lava as you feeling like you’re falling. Not that I expect you’ll ever actually have to describe that feeling, what with the chances of you finding yourself in the vicinity or a lavanous pit (yeah, I’m making up words) probably quite low. 

That all makes sense. Well, it makes a little bit of sense, if you can follow. What doesn’t make sense is falling into something that can’t kill or hurt you. And maybe that’s the point: you don’t fall into something pleasant. Or even if you do happen to land in a giant pile of marshmallows or rainbows or something equally symbolic of pleasantness, the feeling of falling isn’t the pleasant part, it’s the landing that feels good. So when people talk about falling in love, what they mean is that they’re worried that their feelings will result in them being maimed or death-ed (past tense of death) or cause significant pain. Nobody takes pleasure in saying that they’re falling in love with someone - it’s a tentative emotion, one of dread and fear. Being in love with someone is different. You’re no longer in that freefall, that chaotic uncertainty where you’re not really sure if you feel that way, or if they feel that way, or if you’ll always feel that way, and gosh I’m just so confused.

Even the people who take such joy and pleasure in expressing that feeling don’t really mean it. You know what I’m talking about: the “I think I’m falling for him/her!” types. The exclamation mark gives the illusion of excitement, but it doesn’t mask what’s going on beneath the surface. That statement reeks of desperate fickleness - an unwillingness to commit to a feeling or a thought or whatever love is in any definitive terms. Because again, you're never really sure if what you're talking about will be reciprocated, so you give yourself an out. It’s testing the waters, and that’s just so human to be cautious. I’ve never seen a duck dip its toe in the pond. They swim or they walk, and they don’t make a fuss about one or the other.

Where was I...

So, back to this moment, the moment where it feels like you’re falling. You’re really not though, not yet anyway. But you know soon you will be - there’s a realisation that comes, perhaps when the world around you starts to get fuzzy, and the outline of everybody else is blurry so that they no longer have clearly defined edges but morph into blobs. And you know then that you can’t stop what’s going to happen, because it’s already been set in motion (the motion of course being downwards). You feel your head go dizzy, your heart starts pounding inexplicably quickly, you lose control of your limbs. A wave washes over you, but it’s not a cleansing sort of wave that soothes and brings peace. It’s a destructive wave that doesn’t leave any semblance of you left, not in that moment anyway. You’ll eventually be washed to shore, ideally in one piece not too dissimilar to how you started, but the moment that water hits you there’s no reaching you.

I promise I’m not talking about falling in love.