It was in the ice skating rink where I thought about falling.
Skating past young children, I noticed every few rounds the rough tumble of a kid to the ground. Just as I slowed down, unsure whether to offer help, they picked themselves up, dusted themselves off, and sped off. There was a certain magnificence about that gesture of defiance against gravity, the nonchalance to the whole notion of falling — falling down equated to nothing more than getting up again.
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The concept “falling” is a perennial one, cropping up in articles, books, and artworks — both in the figurative and physical sense. “Falling” is alluded to “failing” (perhaps they are regarded as homonyms), and a vast, gaping sense of the unknown (falling off a cliff). It’s in nursery rhymes with a dark bent (“Jack fell down and broke his crown”). It’s something simultaneously anticipated and dreaded (“falling in love”), accompanied by a heady rush of excitement.
Most of all, it is a human anti-affinity: falling represents the loss of control.
Perhaps because of this, we try to control it as much as we can or comprehend the factors behind it. Around this time of the year, temperatures fall worldwide. Yet even within this “falling” is embedded the idea of change and lack of control — as the world undergoes climate change, the rates at which temperatures will fall are increasingly drastic. As the world battles the coronavirus, multiple entities try to cause rates of infection to go in the “falling” direction.
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I was 8 when I first went ice skating at my friend’s birthday party. I cannot remember the cold, nor the exhilaration of zooming around the rink. But I vividly remember my friend telling me, “You fell down 37 times!” Counterintuitively, it has since become a point of pride — if not for the willingness to fall, I would never have learned to skate.
In ice skating, there will inevitably be those who cling to the sides, who wobble along on their skates for a few rotations before they decide that they can step into the blank ice. And there are those who simply step out into the ice, wobble, and fall. Then they stand up and do it again.
I’m not suggesting that it’s necessarily better to do one or the other. Avoidance of falling is a natural response, a survivalist mechanism. Many of our fears are based on basic survival instincts, like the fear of heights. I don’t disparage those with a fear of heights (I myself am terrified of them) who refuse to stand at the railings of a tall building and look down, let alone jump on a suspended bridge (I’m sure we’ve all encountered that obnoxious and seemingly fearless person).
There is, as with most things, a logicality to this fear. A friend once asked me, “So, do you have a fear of falling or a fear of heights?” The fear of falling is termed basophobia while fear of heights is known scientifically as acrophobia. They are closely related at high altitudes but with subtle differences — one with basophobia may envision falling and be afraid while standing at an area of low altitude but venture up heights with no fear, and vice versa for acrophobia. And one may sum up both in a fear of death — for a fall, particularly from a high height, could mean precisely that.
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Particularly for those at the end of the age spectrum, or those with certain medical conditions, falling is terrifying. Falling could lead to various infirmities at best, and be fatal at worst. A bad fall can paralyse one and damage organs in this fragile human shell we all inhabit. Psychologically, it can also invoke emotions of helplessness and damage confidence in balance and other physical actions. On the other hand, constantly being too afraid of falling inhibits one from daily activities, creating a hesitance and lack of confidence in carrying out basic actions and activities.
There is no conclusion to the discussion of falling, nor a neat summary linkage and summary of its various related ideas — symbolism, the relation to the natural fear of death, physical effects, and/or psychological effects. (After all, there is a reason why this piece is a “brief note”, not a “conclusive answer”.)
No matter how we choose to interact with the idea of “falling”, it remains something beyond our command. In the end, the very concept of falling presents us all with a paradox: how do we control the loss of control?
