Paragliding

They say that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. That's bullshit, of course, but I'll tell you my story anyway. You see, when you die, it’s not so much a flash as it is a complete transition phase in which you see your life as a complete entity for the first time. You see the beginning and the end, and all that other stuff in between. What I've been told is that after you’re dead, you see your life in one of two ways. Either you'll see your life as a jumble of vague and indistinguishable moments, which is usually the case, or as one or two big events that defined your life. I had no big events. There was nothing monumental about my life.

In order to get into heaven, I've been told that you have to figure out the point of life. Some people go directly to heaven, but most don't. I didn't. Instead, I have to try to make sense of the life that was mine. We're not given any clues. The only thing we have to work with is the events of our life. As I sit here, one thing reminds me of another, and that reminds me of yet another, and so on. Just like in life, God watches and laughs as we try to make sense of everything. People question whether God is a guy or a girl. All I'm really sure of is, God is an asshole.

Right now, I'm thinking of the time I had the chance to go paragliding.

You see, I always wanted to try paragliding. If you don't know, paragliding is like hang-gliding only you use a parachute instead of a glider. I'd like to try hangliding too. Or anything that involves flying for that matter. I'd give anything to be a bird. The only trouble is, I’m afraid of heights.

My mind is racing, and this reminds me of the way everything used to scare me.

I paid extra for the thicker, taller fence that kept the world off of my property. Before long I’d created my own personal little cage. I had bars on my windows just in case they got past the fence. I had a top-of-the-line security system in case they got past the bars. Even then, there would be a rottweiler and a 12 gauge waiting to greet any unwanted vistors. No one ever came. What no one ever tells you is that safety is the most dangerous thing in the world.

This preoccupation with safety reminds me of the way I used to worry about health.

I never drank tea or coffee because I feared the effects of caffeine. I never drank alcohol because I feared the effects it would have on my body. At the time I didn't realize it was fear. I thought it was good reasoning. Logical. I simply felt that drinking something with caffeine or alcohol in it wasn't worth the risk. Health is good and all, but eating for longevity seems just a tad bit pointless if you die young. But I suppose no one ever plans on dying young. I had all these cares, all this safety, and what I didn’t realize was that I was watering down my life. Diluting and diluting until there is nothing left. What I see now that I'm dead is that if you take enough away, you'll be left with a nice, safe, comfortable nothing.

This reminds me of the time I majored in philosophy.

I spent years trying to figure out how to live. What I didn't realize is that it really doesn't make much difference how you live. Living is the important thing.

This reminds me of the time I visited the Roman Colloseum.

Where people used to see bloody games full of excitement and carnage and instincts, I paid even more to go there and simply imagine what it must have been like. I can't even begin to relate to the ancient Romans who would sit so close to the arena that when they went home they would find scabs of dried blood on their clothes and in their hair.

You see, I had no intensity. No passion. I was constantly going out of my way to avoid stepping on anyone's toes. Always politically correct. Always polite. Excuse me. I'm sorry. Thank you, come again. In our modern society, I was so seperated from life I didn't even know what it was.

My greasy, pasty, toothpick of a tour guide told us how in ancient Rome, when a gladiator was wounded and helpless on the ground, the emperor would give the thumbs up or thumbs down to dictate if the man would live or die. I remember wondering what had happened to the carnal, animal-like instincts that fueled the roar of the crowd to cry for a thumbs down, you’re dead. This facination with death, did we ever really grow out of it? The way I see it, humanity has been tamed over the years. We too were once animals. I remember wondering, when did human life become so precious?

Looking back on my old self in safety and comfort, I see how pointless my obsession with longevity was. What about the beauty in brief, intense lives? Surely intensity is more important than mere existence. Surely a gladiator felt more alive in his thirty years than your modern person who lives to eighty, ninety, or even a hundred years old. Our safe and comfortable lives of mediocrity. Too bad you can't really appreciate something you imagine always having.

This reminds me of the Birds of Prey exhibit I saw in Prague.

It was right there next to the castle where they had four or five giant hawks and eagles. These massive birds with their five-foot wingspans, sitting on a little perch and tied to a stubby little post. The teather was just long enough for the birds to begin flying. With a violent tug and a squawk they would be yanked back down to the earth, robbed of everything they were created for.

My whole life I felt like those birds. I always wanted to fly but there was always something keeping me tied to the earth. Now, dead, I realize that like those birds I was robbed of my true purpose in life. You see, its society that keeps us grounded and afraid to spread our wings.

We are a people of paradox. A people who ride esclators all day so we have time to use our Stairmaster 4000PT when we get home. A people who drive three miles to the gym, and then when we get there we use the elevator to get to the top floor, where our time-killer of choice awaits us. One month we’re eating nothing but red meat on the Atkins diet, and the next we’re replacing three meals a day with Slimfast shakes. Just a few months later, we've got a point value assigned to every piece of food we eat, courtesy of Weight Watchers. No one thinks its weird when mothers stop eating the dinner they make for their family so that they can have a little five-point chocolate truffle. Always trying to look better, never to feel better. We are such a product of our society that even after acknowedging this, we go on living as though nothing has changed.

This chosen ignorance reminds me of the retarded kid in high school.

I’m sorry, mentally disabled. The way that when we would pass by him hobbling along with drool slipping out his mouth and down his chin, everyone would look at the ground or each other or anywhere at all but at that kid. After the first glance, you feared to look back because that might mean eye contact. No one wants that. But what you don’t know is that the retarded kid, with his hobble and drool, doesn’t want to look at you either. To him, you represent everything that is wrong with his body. He doesn’t know much, but he knows that you’re normal and he isn’t. This is why he too looks away. Chosen ignorance.

Americans are the retarded children of the world. We get the feeling that something is not quite right. But we’re not really sure what, so we go on with our lives. Happily ignorant. Travelling in Europe, people would point with their eyes as I passed by. I’d just smile my retarded-child smile right back at them.

This reminds me of my addiction to popular media.

You see, I lived my whole life in the same city. For a while, my life revolved around the TV schedule. That changed when I got Tivo, but then I was watching more TV than ever. When TV got boring, I'd watch a movie. If there were no good movies to watch, and I was feeling particularly adventurous, maybe I'd pick up a book. That was my life. These days, we don't need to do anything ourselves. There isn’t anything we can't see on TV or read in a book or experience in a video game. These shows and books and films - they're all replacements for the life we used to have. A life we still could have. What we have is a society scared shitless of life. Part of it is the danger, and part of it is the fear of what others will think.

This reminds me of the time I had the chance to go paragliding.

These days, the closest thing we have to adventure is adventure sports. Things like paragliding, hangliding, skydiving and bungee jumping. Activities with warning lables like Not for the faint of heart, or Strictly for thrill seekers. Things for those crazy people. You know who I’m talking about. People who want to break free, or live on the edge, or any other of the exotic and dangerous descriptions given to individuals who simply live life the way it was meant to be lived. The way I see it, we are far too terrified of everything.

Finally. I had waited my whole life for this. A chance to fly. A chance to escape gravity, just for a few minutes. A chance to break the bonds that had imprisoned me my whole life. A chance to discover the real reason why birds sing. Oh, the freedom of a bird, that's what I want! This was my chance to experience the intensity of the colloseum. It's time to step outside my big, thick walls. Time to be unhealthy for a change. Time to stop thinking about life, and actually live it. Who would have thought that the point of life is to live?

But paragliding is so expensive, I thought. And I could have a lot of fun swimming or reading instead. Also I've always been a bit uneasy when it comes to heights. Maybe I'll hold off for now, and try paragliding the next chance I get. Yes, that makes sense. That's logical. That's easy...

This reminds me of the time I had the chance to go paragliding, but didn't.

This reminds me of the time I was driving home from work, a few weeks later, and I fell asleep.

Indistinguishable words fly past my face. Bright lights. Men in blue outfits and white masks and blood on their hands.