I practice aerial acrobatics. Not in a gym, not on machines—but on silks, high up under the rafters. It’s when you hang from two strips of fabric wrapped around your body and fly. Truly fly. Well, almost.

Many people think it looks beautiful. And yes, from the outside, it probably looks like a dance. But from the inside, it’s hard work. Bruises on your legs, calluses on your hands, muscle pain so intense you can’t get out of bed in the morning. And fear. A constant, clammy fear that you might fall.

I remember my first class. I was thirty. I walked into the studio, watched the girls fluttering in the air, and thought, "I could never do that." The coach said, "You can. Just don't overthink it." So I tried. The first climb—just half a meter up. My hands were shaking. My heart was pounding in my throat. But I made it up. And for a second, I froze. I just hung there and looked down. And it was... magical.

Now I fly at a height of five meters. I perform moves that once seemed impossible. And every time, before I leave the ground, I feel the same thing: fear and exhilaration. They always go hand in hand. It’s like jumping into cold water—first the shock, then the rush.

The air doesn't forgive mistakes. It is honest. If you aren't focused, if you aren't mindful of your body, if you get distracted—you fall. But it teaches you, too. It teaches you to trust yourself. It teaches you to be in the here and now. When you’re hanging from the silks, there’s no phone, no news, no plans for tomorrow. There is only you and your body. And that is the most honest form of therapy I know.

I don't need medals or competitions. I need that feeling. When you let go of the ground and, for a split second, become lighter than air. It’s incomparable.

Have you ever tried something that requires courage? Or do you just watch from the sidelines?

Darya