My irrational fear of escalators
Did I tell you that I have this irrational fear of getting on an escalator? Not a huge one, I still step on, but always with some trepidation. The escalator rolls and as each step passes by, I put my foot out and then pull it back. It takes me a couple of times and some days are better than others. My husband rolls his eyes and steps out, never fearing getting his shoelace caught in the brutal ridges of the stairs. Your next question besides am I on medication, no I am not, is so take the stairs? I hate stairs. I hate stairs with a passion, going up and going down and they are usually not in the most convenient places. Not to mention when I climb stairs I go into cardiac arrest or have no breath to yell at anyone for making me take the stairs. Going down stairs, forget it. I worry about tripping and falling on my head, I have huge feet and well there was a reason I was never called Grace. Nearest, I can tell, this fear of escalators started as a child when I heard the horrible stories of a child’s shoelace getting caught in the stairs and the kid getting sucked into the escalator while his mother wailed for her poor child. The scene was a mess of blood and child splatter everywhere. It never happened to me, but the fear remains. Just recently I realized, the story of the escalator, is the story of my life. I am always afraid of new adventures. I am forever sticking my foot out and then pulling it back in waiting for the perfect step. The problem is the next big step sometimes never comes and I realize how many missed steps there were while I was waiting at the top shaking in fear. Writing is taking a huge step, a gigantic leap of faith. It requires standing on the edge of the precipice and putting your foot out there. It feels like a giant leap, the earth will fall away from underneath you and you fall down the huge crevasse without a parachute. You are subject to the whims of the characters telling you things that you would never in your life time do or think, waiting for the moment someone tells you are good and never believing them. Or believing the punk who gave you a one star because of how you looked, what you wore, or god forbid they didn’t actually like your story.
However, if you want to get back up to the top or see a different part of the mall, or see your book come to life, you wear shoes with no shoelaces, put your foot out, and plant your foot firmly on that rolling step and hold on tight to the rails, unless of course you have an irrational fear of germs. Then you are on your own.