Falling With Style

I went skydiving for the first time this past weekend. One thing I learned is why people phrase it that way when they go skydiving having never been before. "I went skydiving for the first time." It's not so much to emphasize it's the first time, but to suggest that it's not the last. Everything about skydiving that has ever been described to me about the unique experience of hurtling toward the earth from two and a half miles above it is true, but in most aspects falls short. Exhilaration and trepidation flood your senses as the vibrations of the small aircraft's wheels racing down the runway fade into a subtle transition. The vibrations are altered as the lift on the wings, seemingly generated by pockets of air bombarding every inch of surface on the plane, carry you into the sky. It's too much, let me start at the beginning.

Everyone has those moments in life when you realize that a seed of greatness has been planted. Too many times it withers and dies, but sometimes it culminates into a hallmark experience. This particular seed originates from a passing comment I made about skydiving to a coworker. From there it generated some interest and after a few weeks of planning we found ourselves scrunched together in a truck on the road to a rural airport in Palatka. One of my coworkers, scared to pieces about the upcoming event, stayed behind when we got to the airfield to smoke (not her last) cigarette to calm her nerves. My other coworker, the complete opposite, could not wait to do all the prep work required to participate in the tandem skydive. I gauged my emotions to be somewhat middling between their two extremes. However, I had resolved to go skydiving that day and that's exactly what I intended to do.

Finally, the go-big-or-go-home moment had arrived. Settling into the plane, my two brave coworkers who accompanied me on this adventure and I became quite close to one another. Quite literally, actually. On a tiny plane, we fit the three of us, our skydive instructor partners, three videographers, and the pilot. Nine, including me. On the ride up I mused on the idea that these might be the last nine faces I see in this life. Of course, I had been doing that for the last twenty-four hours. This might be that last time I close at work. This might be my last dinner. This might be the last time I eat eggs (I'm glad the eggs turned out so well in that case!). On the ascent, it didn't take long for the trees to become miniature and for the streets, houses, lakes, and rivers to appear as though they were merely drawn upon a child's play mat. Rattling our way into the clouds on the single-propellered rocket of destiny, it was finally time to shake off any lingering doubts and prepare for the last decision I would ever make ("No," I thought. "Knock it off with those crazy thoughts." "Fine thought," retorted my inner heckler, "from a guy about to jump out of a plane.").

So it was that my less-frightened coworker vanished from the opening in the air craft. I didn't even see where she went. Not down, certainly. Just vanished. After a moment, my less-courageous coworker vanished too! I'm pretty sure I heard a final profanity come out of her before any trace of her was lost to the roaring wind. Finally, my turn. I turned and asked my instructor if I was my attachments were secure. You see, in tandem skydiving you're not connected to the parachute. You're connected to the guy who is connected to the parachute. To say that notion is alarming is an understatement. "Do you feel secure?" my instructor shouted over the wind gushing in our faces. "I feel very close to you right now!" I shouted back. Indeed, there was absolutely no room between us thanks to the bindings of the harnesses. He laughed and responded, "You're gonna have to buy me dinner after this, I think!"

Now, I had a witty response. I just don't remember what it was. This might sound like a convenient alibi but one, two, THREE! And the illusion of ground that was the airplane's floor suddenly no longer existed for me. The wind that had been pounding the walls of the last airplane I'd ever(Stop it, brain.) was now like a thousand invisible hands holding me up in the air. As cliche as it is to say, it's the only permissible use of the phrase, "it was just like flying." The ground didn't seem to even be approaching despite my 80mph decent. But about halfway to the parachuting altitude I realized that like Buzz Lightyear I was not flying. I was falling, but with style.

Finally, the videographer opened his parachute and appeared to shoot upward in my view. This indicated to me that it was nearly time for my instructor and I to do the same. And, as planned, we did. Freefalling may seem scary, but try falling softly and gently hoping along the way that the freefall doesn't recommence. The sensation of getting caught in midair by a complex length of material connected by an organization of string is one of a kind. Your life literally depends on the integrity of that system and the person who put that system into place. In the meantime, as if for comedic relief to your dire situation, you might feel like Winnie the Pooh floating along by balloon humming "I'm Just a Little Black Raincloud." What a rush! Followed by the most singularly unique view of the earth I have ever been privileged to witness. There I was, wisping along slowly downward toward the safety (or demise, depending on your velocity) of the ground.

Now during the free fall, there is no hope of conversation. The plane shields most of the wind when the doors open but out in the sky there is no barrier. There is a tiny hurricane in both of your ears until the parachute saves your life. Afterward, five to seven quiet minutes are solely yours to take in the view and realize that you barely know the person behind you as you attempt to make any degree of conversation. This same person who you have just met is the same person in whose hands you have put your life into. That is an enormous amount of faith to have in a person anyway, and I don't even have faith in milk the day after the container tells me it expires.

This epiphany made me realize exactly what I had gotten myself into. To me it was another moment of greatness in my life, which may sound a bit exaggerated to some. I define a moment of greatness as an experience in which we do not know if we will come out of it okay and, upon doing so, come out the other side transformed forever. Indeed, it's impossible not to look at things a bit differently after skydiving. You learn a lot about yourself in those moments leading up to those points of no return. You learn a lot about faith and gain a perspective on things that you might find surprising. All of these notions may seem ambiguous and subjective in nature, but that is the whole point. Each time someone experiences a moment of greatness, even if it can be described with human words such as skydiving, running a marathon, going for a job interview, etc., it nonetheless cannot be defined by anything less than the experience of the person living it and how they choose to interpret it.

Skydiving has become a mainstreamed bucket list must. However, I can vouch for the fact that it has earned its renown for being something one would be remiss not doing at least once in their life. Whether it happens to bring terror or wonder to you, there is nothing quite like it. Be warned though, the moment you touch the ground you're going to be wondering why you had never done this sooner, and what your next overdue adventure is going to be.