Skydiving

I went skydiving a few years ago. Sometimes I forget that I did that. I wouldn’t say that I am daring. I went skydiving because it was my friend’s birthday and it seemed like an opportunity to experience something new – I would say that I was one of those “experience people,” as I was once accused of being. I also wouldn’t say that skydiving was very “death defying.” I know, I know – “Why would someone jump out of a perfectly good airplane?” – but that’s a weak argument. You don’t just jump out. You prepare. And in our case, you jump tandem, with a professional…maybe it is death defying if you do it professionally.

I would think that most people who go skydiving at least partially do it for the experience. And it is an amazing experience. You wait around for a while in the building, talking with all the other people about what you expect and if you’re afraid, and then try not to talk about it after you’ve signed the caution-of-death waiver.

Then the instructor introduces himself and makes small talk. He’s done this a lot, got addicted his first time up, why are you doing this…not that you’re listening or care. He straps you up in a tangle of seatbelts. He shows you how to pull the golf-ball-like-pull-thingy to release the parachute – you should be listening now – he’ll tap you on the shoulder and then you reach back and pull this string to save our lives. “Oh, but I don’t really want to pull it.” “You have to try to pull it, it’s part of skydiving. I won’t take you up if you don’t.” “O..K..” “I’ll pull it if you miss or something.” Well, that’s good, you think to yourself with only the slightest hint of sarcasm. Cue smile.

Then you all climb onto the tiny plane and sit on these benches. More small talk and some people are excited. I’m not excited as much as I am intrigued, interested. Then the instructor scoots up behind you and says, “Lift up your butt,” and moves up real close, simultaneously uncomfortably and comfortingly close, to strap us together – you are about to go out of the airplane, by the way. “Ok, you don’t really jump, just lean forward. Go.”

And you’re falling through the air. And this guy you don’t know is talking to you – who knew you could talk when you’re moving that fast. And you don’t talk back because you’re here for the experience and you’re focused on the amazement that your stomach’s not in your throat and what a nice day it is. “If you’re going to throw up, there’s a procedure for that.” “Oh, no, I’m fine, just quiet.” I feel a tap on my shoulder, that’s my cue, I reach back but can’t feel anything, oh well he’ll do it.

And then you feel a tug and you’re sailing. You kind of soar this way and that. “See the rainbow.” “It’s a full circle, wow.” “That’s our shadow in the middle.” When we go through the cloud, it’s cold and misty. I smile. Wow. And then we slide into the ground. My pants are dirty.

Then you meet up with your friends. “How was it?” “Great.” “I feel weird, must be the adrenaline rush.” “Yeah, it was a rush.” “Wait, you got a rush? I didn’t…”

Yeah, I didn’t get a rush from skydiving. I guess that makes me weird. It was an amazing experience that I would recommend to anyone, but there was no rush, no excitement. So it’s not that surprising that nothing else seems to excite me either. That may explain my tendency to be constantly looking for new experiences – I want to break through my level-headedness and discover a passion, something that gives me a rush.

So, I’ll keep trying new things despite the results. Even if it is like zip lining and running into trees in a Guatemalan forest, not that that’s ever happened to any of my friends…At least I might find something that makes me want to do it over and over again. Like my skydiving instructor, who probably doesn’t get a rush anymore, but still risks his life everyday to do it because he’s addicted to it. To not be able to let something go, to feel that “I’ve just got to do it” feeling, would be worth all the other “Oops, there’s a tree there – this is not what I want to do” moments.