Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to take a wrong step on a ledge high up and plummet through the air to the earth? Don’t worry, I am not suicidal and I don’t have a death wish, but what of the adrenalin rush, when the foot steps onto nothing and the hands grasp and clutch at free air, that moment before you let go and gravity makes the inevitable happen. I can almost feel the chemistry of the shock.
I am a planner, you know. Most everything I do is well planned and thought through, often to the minutest degree. I like to know where I am going and what I will be doing, with whom and when. Some have been subjected to my relentless plans for my family’s previous visits to Denmark – planned each down to every day and which train we will catch to get from a to b.
Yet my very biggest decisions in life were taken at what in retrospect feels like the spur of the moment. Let’s get married. How about I immigrate? Let’s buy that house. Let’s have a child! Let’s both become citizens (I was told I needed to if I were to be employed in the government job that we both relied on to pay our newly entered into mortgage). Not that I regret any of those very big decisions – no, I am grateful for them: I have a darling man, great sons, a lovely place to live.
But now I am at a cross road. My teenage sons have a life of their own to live and I have for some time been longing to get a foot on the ground in my home country – even if I have to apply for permission to stay; they made me relinquish my birth right when I took citizenship in Australia. The proposed Danish dual citizen laws with retrospective effect cannot come soon enough!
So I started to plan.
Last week my boss approved my application for a whole year off, and we are set to be in Denmark for 2015. How much will I plan? Somewhat I’d say. But what if I just turned up to see what happened?
Søren Kierkegaard once wrote: “To dare is to lose one’s footing momentarily. Not to dare is to lose oneself.” I want to dare, so I don’t lose myself; yet I want to lose my footing only momentarily, so I don’t fatally fall off that ledge.