It’s as if thinking about being on the underside of the world will cause me to fall off
There isn’t a time that I consciously became aware of my fear of heights. It seems it was always there. But maybe it’s not vertigo. Maybe it’s a fear of falling. A fear of gravity.
Secure in my pod, I have no problem on the London Eye. I am fine on an aeroplane, unless you count the microlite flight that my cousin once organised for me (as a treat!). In that case, my fear of causing offence and humiliation, heightened by the pilot being a lady, overcame my fear of dropping out of the sky. Just.
Now I live in Australia. In a single storey house. There are no mountains. There’s no great need for ladders. I am nowhere near the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Sometimes, though, I get a panicky feeling, “OMG, this is Australia!” It’s as if thinking about being on the underside of the world will cause me to fall off. Here gravity is my friend.
In response to the Daily Post weekly Photo challenge Weight(less).
see also Outback trio.