I fell out of a plane yesterday. On purpose. Strange to speak those words, and stranger still to know their full meaning. I have intended to do this for some time now, but seemingly not with a sense of priority. Circumstance is apparently the best catalyst for setting one’s bucket list in motion.
I’ve long feared the experience, though never with enough conviction to prevent its realization (at least in my mind). The thought of looking upon the earth from such a height with no sturdy barrier between us stirs a powerful sense of vertigo in merely imagined terms, so the potential for the actual experience to be far worse is the only logical stopping point for this train of thought.
It was a great comfort to have the security of a trained professional provided for me. Thinking back, I’m not certain that I possess the courage required to step away from the imagined safety of an aircraft into the imagined safety of a parachute, relying solely on my own conviction to do so. I’m more certain that I would cower at the door, the battle between logic, intent, and rationale raging within my mind until my mind became numb. Comfort here is manifest through being firmly attached to a decision making force not myself; not unlike what I imagine kittens experience when lifted by the scruff of the neck in vicious jaws of flesh-eating death. It’s just nice to know that if you’re going to meet a gruesome fate, at least there’s nothing you could do about it, for better or worse.
And so, I tumbled. The view was spectacular, and the ride exhilarating. The vertigo mentioned was brief, if noticeable at all. Truly, the experience was about as heart stopping as a roller coaster ride. That phrase “You’ll feel a little pinch” comes to mind. I fell from the sky, I lived, and I would do it again.