Legs back, arms crossed,…wait! What else do I do?
Sitting on the edge of a tin-can plane, hearing only wind and the sound of my heartbeat, I awaited the most amazing–and maybe the last–experience of my life.
My best friend and I prayed nervously before we made our jumps.
“God, please let us make it to the ground safely. And if not, please forgive us for being stupid.”
I was the first one to jump. I was determined to do everything I was supposed to. The video I watched just minutes before explained explicitly I could die. My only job was to cross my arms in an X across my chest, and throw my knees behind me through the tandem diver’s legs. We rocked on the edge of the plane: one, two, three…
Exhilaration. The wind was so loud I couldn’t hear my thoughts. It didn’t matter since I wasn’t thinking anything at all, except maybe single words like wow, sky, wind, oh, sun, and wow.
Skydiving is so risky and crazy that it’s the most cliche item on anyone’s bucket list. Alas, it was on mine. Cliche as it is, I’m proud to say I crossed it off about 5 years ago when I was still a brace-faced baby. To this day, when I face a challenging experience, I recall that I jumped out of a plane at 13,000 feet, and suddenly whatever it is seems doable.