the call of the void

& the desire to jump

Have you ever stood at the edge of a steep cliff, and for a split second, felt an intrusive urge to jump? Though it’s not a desire to die, but rather a fleeting thought that crosses your mind: How easy would it be to just step over the edge? You feel the adrenaline surge through your chest, and for a moment, you wonder if you're impulsive enough to follow through.

It may be reassuring to know that you aren’t alone in this strange, unsettling thought. This feeling actually has a name—it's called "the call of the void." Psychologists define it as the sudden, unwanted urge to leap or do something dangerous while in high places, despite having no suicidal intent.

When I first learned this, it was a small relief. It was like a reassurance: I’m not crazy! Other people feel this way too! The void, that dark and magnetic pull, suddenly seemed a little less terrifying. I could stand at the edge, look down, and laugh at its allure, unbothered by its silent whisper.

But what happens when the cliff isn’t physical? When the edge you stand upon is not the solid ground of the earth, but the very foundation of your identity—the things that make you who you are, the familiar life you’ve built? And the void, that same haunting pull, now represents the unknown, the unfamiliar, the terrifying potential of what lies beyond everything you’ve ever known.

I’m toeing the line of this metaphorical edge, staring into the depths, and I feel the familiar tightening in my chest. My heart rate quickens ever so slightly. What if I jump? What if I throw away everything I’ve anchored myself to? My identity. My sense of self. I have no plan, no parachute, no safety net. There’s nothing to catch me if I fall.

And yet, I stand mesmerized— drawn to the void. It calls to me. My rational mind tells me to fear it, warns me of the dangers of letting go. And at first, I am afraid. I don’t know what awaits me on the other side. I don’t understand why I feel this pull or why it feels so... familiar. It’s as though I’ve been here before, standing at this edge, teetering between the safety of what I know and the vast unknown of what I could become.

The void feels dangerous, like it could swallow me whole, like I could lose myself in it forever. But the longer I stand here, the less I care about what awaits me. The fear starts to fade. The uncertainty, oddly enough, begins to feel right. Peaceful. The pull of the unknown isn’t something I want to avoid anymore; it’s all I can think about.

And so, I stand here, still uncertain, still not knowing what direction I’m going, but feeling the weight of it all shift. Maybe it’s not about the destination. Maybe the act of jumping itself is the only thing that matters. I don’t know where this will take me, and that uncertainty is the only thing I can truly hold onto. I don’t know how to explain it. All I know is, in this moment, I feel ready to let go, to jump, and to finally find out—whatever that means.

walk boldly,

Caroline