A couple of weeks ago, I jumped out of a plane.
One month ago, the idea of skydiving just wasn’t in my head.
Then my friend Mike, the editor-in-chief here and an assistant coach for FEARLESS, posted a picture of himself doing a jump. It looked so awesome, I thought I’d have to give it a go.
Dumbass that I am, I mentioned this to a few people. One of these people, Dave (FEARLESS’ executive director), instantly told me of a great place to jump. Time to put my money where my mouth is.
A little context: I’ve been working a lot with fear recently. Skydiving seemed like a pretty big dose of that. But I’ve also been working on other qualities, such as keeping my word. We all know people who talk a good game, but never follow through. It’s a mental habit that can be hard to break, so I’ve been training myself to follow through on the things that I say I’m going to do. Now, I could have avoided this by not mentioning my latest crazy scheme. But I’d already had the thought. And keeping your word to yourself might be the biggest part of the habit I’m trying to cultivate.
Anyway: back to fear. I’m sitting in a field outside of Bucharest, watching a small pink plane take off at regular intervals. Numerous parachutists swoop in to land gracefully. Others hurtle in at ridiculous speeds: I swear one does a somersault just before the home stretch. It all seems pretty damn surreal. However, it seems real enough to my nervous system.
My heart rate is elevated. My skin is tingling. Waves of energy surge through my body, desperate for release. I let it all flow through me, staying with the physical sensations rather than the thoughts flying around my head.
‘How are you feeling?’ someone asks.
‘I’m terrified’, I answer.
Even as I say it, however, it doesn’t quite ring true. My body is on high alert, it’s true. I’m about to jump out of a plane, after all. But all these feelings, the quickening of the pulse, the electricity in my body: they seem pretty damn familiar.
I’m not terrified. I’m excited.
Ramiro, the man who will be jumping tandem with me, looks like he’s going for a Sunday stroll. His serenity is infectious. We go through the briefing and training, and before I know it we’re in the plane, taking off. I’m grinning like a madman.
We reach 4,000 metres. (A little over 13,000 feet, for you imperial system people.)
The door opens, and I’m so damn excited I can barely control it.
Wait a second, I think. Am I afraid? It’s hard to tell. I’m still grinning – like a madman. It’s possible I’m feeling a teensy bit nervous.
I’m dangling out of the plane. Ramiro launches us out into the sky, and suddenly I don’t know what I’m feeling. I couldn’t care less what I’m feeling – I’m just feeling it. The lurch in my stomach as gravity grabs us. The disorientation as we spin around so that I can see the plane dwindling before me. Above all else, my whole body screaming with exhilaration. I whoop and scream and cheer. I am alive. I am feeling. What does it matter what name this feeling has? It is as pure and intense as anything I have ever felt.
The parachute deploys: I’m actually a little confused, as I was expecting more of a shock. I feel worse when I double legged on the jiu-jitsu mat. My body is singing still – albeit a tiny bit less deafeningly.
We soar through the air. Ramiro hands me the reins and I steer us to and fro, picking up speed, and slowing us down. (…mostly the latter, I have to admit).
It’s all so intense that it doesn’t feel real. Not like a dream: more like the opposite. It’s hyper-real.
We come in to land. My body is shaking with adrenaline. I still don’t care. I’m laughing to myself. I get a phone call. I make a lot of noises, but not many words. I still can’t tell if I was terrified or excited.
Just one day later, it all seemed very far away. I can remember the feeling, but I can’t capture the intensity of it all. Everything feels a little muted. I’m a little drained by it: I’m not used to feeling that much.
But that’s why I did it. To feel more. To feel more intensely, without shutting down in panic or getting completely overwhelmed. I did it to remind myself that fear and excitement are two sides of the same coin.
Fear won’t kill you. It keeps you alive.
