The Final Skyscraper

I stand at the edge of a sheer drop-off, looking out over a river meandering into infinity. The water calls out to me with a promise of calmness and serenity. On the opposite shore, dogs rush back and forth, excited to meet a new friend. A house with a wrap-around porch, large windows, and a bright yellow door hints at the warmth and comfort I will find inside.

Although paradise beckons me, fear and vertigo take over when I look down at the river far below. Do I have the courage to make the jump? Could I survive? Although the water rises yearly, making the leap a little less daunting, Year after year, day after day, I turn away from the cliff, the peacefulness at my back, and I look out over a dry, desolate expanse of clay-colored fields of dust. One skyscraper with black, infinite windows rises in the distance, the top hidden in dark stormy clouds flashing with lightning.

The river and skyscraper, although in stark contrast, spark an intense feeling that starts in my stomach, swirling and churning, and spreads to my heart and through my veins. Not knowing which way to turn, fear and uncertainty are caught inside me, unable to escape. My skin itches and pulses as though I will burst into a million pieces.

Every day I choose the tower, a blaring alarm jolts me out of a deep slumber as I crawl out of dreams that fade faster than I can hit the snooze button. The only memory remaining is an itch that cannot be scratched. I clamp down my jaw, and my muscles tighten to trap the itch inside. And while the itch fades, it morphs into pain through a crick in my neck, a pounding headache that will not subside, joints that snap and pop, and tight muscles that cannot be stretched. Somehow, seemingly overnight, the image reflecting back at me in the mirror looks more like my mother than me.

I claim that I want to grow old gracefully, yet gracefully doesn't seem to best describe my journey. Awkward, clumsy, scared, anxious, exciting, exhilarating. Middle-aged feels like high school, but rather than the anticipation of graduation and the “real world," there are now expectations of working hard enough and long enough to earn my break, a respite from the "real world."

I still remember the feeling of rushing towards graduation. It couldn't come fast enough, yet the uncertainty of my future felt like running into a thunderstorm, a lightning rod thrust into the sky. I rushed headlong towards that first skyscraper, and in the beginning, there were so many to choose from. If only I could survive the storm. If only I could choose the correct path. If only I could outrun the wild animals nipping at my heels. If only…

I made many paths through the city of skyscrapers as I trudged into middle-aged and towards the precipice of old age. I entered one after another, never certain of what might be inside. Change felt new and interesting, but as the years ticked by, change became foreign and unsettling. I could not choose every tower, there were too many, and as I left them behind, they crumbled into the rust-colored dust.

When I entered the first skyscraper, cars, their engines still hot, were parked in a small lot, their passengers resting their elbows on the open windows. A summer breeze blew softly through, making soft, whooshing noises. From a tiny white building with a large window across its front came the smell of fast food intermingled with the earthy, skunky smell of burning leaves. I spent a season there, passing out burgers and fries, the most significant challenges being how tall I could make an ice cream cone and where the best parties would be.

I entered many more skyscrapers after that; books and learning, hard labor, heartbreaks, loss, and new friends. Fun times, sad times, hard times when I didn’t think I could make it to the next building or the next floor. One skyscraper stood higher than most, and I walked through the lobby doors onto a great ship. We sailed the ocean where my most cherished moments were late at night, weighed down by gear, when the stars felt just out of reach. Those rare moments I could pretend I was the only person in the world. Later the elevator came crashing down, and I tumbled out before the tower could bury me.

The final skyscraper has been my home for many years. I've explored many levels, and the elevator presented opportunities that propelled my fate forward. The entrance opened to a new city with life-size peanuts on every corner. It is a place I’d never thought I’d be, where people speak with a twang and say things like “bless your heart” and “in a bit” means hours, maybe even days. On another floor, I met my partner and our family is a home that supports and loves me.

I built a career in this final skyscraper, another testament to never knowing what fate has in store; I am not where I'd imagined myself to be. The path to this place took me up steep hills, huffing and puffing as I crested the top and coasted, free and easy, down the other side. Punishing storms threatened my way only to give way to beautiful sunny days that pushed me forward. I often catch myself staring out the window of this last skyscraper, wondering if I'm ready to leave this last tower. Is this part of my journey done? Am I brave enough to follow my heart? Am I ready?

Sometimes I want to run out of the building, yelling and screaming, arms waving madly about, and swan diving over the cliff. No hesitation and no fear as the final skyscraper crumbles into the graveyard of dust behind me. My heart knows that on the river shore far below the cliff in that little house sits a keyboard, waiting for me to pluck away at the keys as I wind tale after tale. A portal stands in the backyard ready to take me on any adventure I request. A comfortable spot is there by the window for me to cuddle up with a good book. A large kitchen stands empty waiting for my family and me to create memories. A fire pit is dug into the ground where we will roast marshmallows and tell ghost stories. Tennis balls with never-ending squeakers are lined up for hours of catch with my pets. Paradise is waiting.

Am I prepared? Have I built a raft large enough to float peacefully across the river? If I jump too soon, creatures lurking beneath the depths will rise and take down my raft. I will have no choice but to cling to the side of the cliff, hoping I have the strength to climb back to the top. Will another skyscraper appear out of the dusty field of crumbled, broken towers, or will I fall, bleeding and defeated, to drown in the river that once promised me paradise? For now, I hesitate as I look out over my cliff and continue making plans for my future as the wind whips through my hair and the river below sings to me.