On my 19th birthday, I jumped out of an airplane. Skydiving was something I had wanted to do for ages but had to wait until I didn’t need a parent to sign off on it. Because that was about as likely as my mom holding my hand while I got a tattoo. 

I went with my friend Michelle and, it was the first airplane she had ever been in! That’s all kinds of crazy in itself, but even more so is that she was calm through the whole event.

I was too…until I had to walk my hands out on the wing of the plane and let go. It went against all logic. I held on for a bit longer than I should have so the instructor reached out and pried my hands off. Then I was sailing through the air and everything I had learned in training the past two days was gone. I was clutching on for dear life to the strings in my hands.

Then I looked up and saw that my parachute was wobbly and I was sure I was done for. I was the unfortunate 1%. Then I looked up at my hands and realized the strings I was holding onto were the brakes and they were letting air in so I couldn’t glide. 

Once I let go, everything was OK. I trusted that I knew what to do and it was the most incredible experience of my life up to that point. Floating down to earth and hearing nothing but air. The fields below me, the Pacific Ocean to right, cars passing by on the highway to the left – I could hear nothing but the sound of my presence floating through the air.

I’ve never felt so at peace. Sometimes that can happen quickly like that – absolute panic to complete contentment with the snap of a finger. Not that I recommend it, but I think the I-am-going-to-die moment led me to sink deeper into the adjoining feeling of appreciation for the moment even more. 

 

“We have all a better guide in ourselves, if we would attend to it, than any other person can be.”

― Jane Austen, Mansfield Park