Let the rain fall. Let the wind howl. Let the lightning strike. I stand in the rain, bare feet and all, tasting the scorched air on my tounge.
I would rather stand tip-toe on a mountain's edge, than walk backwards into what I know. Maynard said it best: "I'm reaching up, I'm reaching out, I'm reaching for the random or whatever will bewilder me."
So then why is it so hard to let go? Why, even when overcome with passion, does it take someone to push me when all I want to do is take that leap? What is it about the unknown that is so terrifying?