…and gazuky

If you’re as old as me (as some people are, surprisingly), you may well remember a song from the Muppet Show that was sung by Kermit’s nephew, Robin, called ‘Halfway Up the Stairs.’ The lyrics went ‘I’m not at the bottom, I’m not at the top. But this is the place where I always stop.’ This, I’ve decided, sums up my life.

Whenever there is something in life in which people can be easily categorised, you can guarantee that I won’t fall into either one. Which always leaves me with a dilemma; usually a difficult choice to make between whether to take action or not – whether to participate, whether to accept an invitation, or whether to take a risk. It drives me mad. I am a paradox personified.

Take skydiving, for example. I know at least 6 or 7 people who have completed a skydive. They all say that it’s the best thing they’ve ever done. Only a couple of them were really nervous about it, because on the whole, they fit the mould for the type of person who goes in for that type of pursuit; activist risk-takers who are always seeking to push the envelope, experience fear as exhilaration, and who love the thrill of it all.

Would I like to do a skydive? Yes, yes and yes again. I can’t think of anything more exciting than flying through the air like a bird, enjoying the magnificent view of patchwork-like fields and clouds far below. Could I ever do one? No, no and no again. Because I experience fear as absolute fear. Not fun-fear, or fear that can be contained – my adrenalin gland seems to have two settings – closed or full-flow-release. There’s nothing in between, and as a consequence, I have the full flight-or-flight experience that terrifies me beyond belief.

A few years ago, I went on a rollercoaster for the first time. Now most people who won’t go on rollercoasters are perfectly happy not to go on them. But I had always wanted to have a go because they seem like such cool, fun things. The only thing that had been stopping me was a head that told my legs on no account should they move into the queue. On the occasion that I overcame this and actually queued up, my friends took great pleasure in observing my face as the colour drained completely away, together with all my saliva and the huge amount of sweat pouring out of my palms.

I’m obviously a natural watcher, not a do-er. Museums were made for people like me – not theme parks. So why is it, then, that I have a constant need to throw myself into uncomfortable situations – or, if i don’t actually go through with it, at least a desire to?

Stand-up comedy is another example. I’m not a naturally outgoing person. My personality type is all wrong to be a comedian. So why do I want to do it? It’s not like I don’t know how difficult it might be, or that the risk of failure is extremely high. Yet still I yearn to do it thinking I might – just might – pull it off. It’s absurd.

Am I trying to be something I’m not? Well possibly. But I can’t find a reason why that should be. Maybe I need to constantly challenge myself, regardless of how uncomfortable the result might be. But I don’t get bored easily. I can find interest where others would be induced to sleep – possibly the result of being an only child.

I should really be grateful that I have this ‘cross-border’ type of personality that allows me occasionally to venture into unknown territory. After all, some people are so restricted by their own boundaries that they won’t ever take a risk; they’ll never leave the country, or try an odd type of food, or take up a new sport or hobby.

What I;m finding at the moment is that I’m itching to try a new experience of some kind, but I don’t know what. It could be something as simple as a new sport, or something completely bizarre. I’d quite like it to have a social element to it. It can’t be too extreme, as my life is stressful enough at the moment, and any more might tip me over the edge (!) but it has to be different enough to be a challenge.

Answers on a postcard, please. Or failing that, just post them here as comments