Daring to Age

I just turned 40 this week. I know - time flies, blah bah.

But it got me thinking about all that I've accomplished - and all I have still to do. While I was reminiscing, I found this old essay I wrote about what I did when I turned 30. What am I going to do to beat this?

Skydiving – A Cure for the 30-Year-Old Blues

I’ve always been afraid of heights. Ladders make me break out into a sweat. Fire escapes and diving boards cause me to freeze up, and I have to crawl to safety. Being close to the ground is the best thing for my peace of mind. Then, why in the world was I jumping out of an airplane?

I had just turned thirty and I was feeling old. I was tired of being predictable and boring to everyone I knew, and I had decided to give my family a jolt. But, most improtatnly, I wanted to stare down my fear of heights in the most dramatic way possible.

For all of these reasons, I was now waiting nervously for my chance to ride a small plane, and then jump out of it. I was going go skydive using the newest method – tandem parachuting. This meant that a seasoned jumper would be attached to me with cables and a parachute would be attached to him. I would go through the motions, but he would be the one actually pulling the strings and making us land safely. This was a way of experiencing a jump without having to go through a lot of training and preparation.

I knew that my friends would not believe that I could be so daring, so I decided to furnish proof. For a fee, I could have my jump videotaped – a second jumper with a camera attached to his head would film the whole trip down.

I hadn’t eaten all day because of my churning stomach. I smiled a lot, but I hadn’t said a word on the hour-long journey to this small private airport. My name was called and I carefully gathered up my gear. As I zipped up my regulation navy jumpsuit, my jump expert and tandem partner, Bob, introduced himself. He showed me a few key moves that I’d need to remember, and joked around to loosen me up. Then he led me and the video cameraman to the runway.

The small plane taxied down the concrete strip and idled as we got in. Too late to back out now! As the single-engine dinosaur climbed to 8,000 feet, I sat on the floor near the tail of the plane and could feel my body shaking and shuddering. Looking out the window, I watched the cornfields and private landing areas turn into a patchwork quilt of green and gold. Finally, clouds surrounded us, and all I could see was the sun glinting off ghostly white cotton puffs.

Bob hastily re-buckled the goggles that I had nervously fastened backwards, and then attached himself to my back. Then he slowly and meticulously checked all of the clamps and grips connecting us. Bob carefully explained why I had a harness between my legs and under my arms and where the cables attached us. He emphasized that the cables would hold 2,000 pounds, so my weight was nothing to worry about. The video cameraman also double-checked his equipment and took pictures of me “before the jump.”

Although Bob’s explanations are a blur to this day, one comment does stand out in my mind. “Only 12% of the populations does this, “ he said, referring to skydiving, “so you’re braver than 88% of everyone else out there.” Although that didn’t’ make me less nervous, it did make me feel bolder.

Then it was time to jump. Bob opened the door, and I scooted out onto the edge of the open hatch, my legs dangling out of the plane. Bob was a reassuring presence behind me. At the count of three, I jumped, keeping my arms crossed above my heat and my knees bent. After three seconds, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and I flung my arms into a “Y” formation and straightened out my knees a little. Ten Bob and I plummeted to the earth, the cameraman right behind us.

On the video, I looked like I was having a great time, grinning from ear to ear. I had started out smiling for the camera before I jumped, and the wind pressure just kept that expression frozen on my face. The sound of air rushing past kept me from hearing anything but the questions inside my head. I was asking myself “Will the chute open?” “Will one of the clamps give way?” What does it feel like to splat to earth from 8,000 feet?”

Finally, Bob pulled a cord and the parachute unfurled. With a whoosh, we both shot up as the chute caught air. The weight of the parachute pulled the harnesses against my arms and legs, letting me know how much weight they were supporting. Then, instead of sound, there was blessed quiet. We just drifted, back and forth, testing the limits of the chute and our navigational abilities. We whirled and spun and swooped. This was the part I liked best – the quiet, the view, the feeling of floating and flying at the same time. I felt at peace, and realized there was only one more hurdle left.

We prepared to land. The ground seemed to rise and meet us, gaining speed the closer we got. I bent my knees and braced to run on my toes. We were heading toward a gravel bulls-eye that had been placed on a grassy clearing. We hit it right on target. Unfortunately, I hit it with my rear end! A painful landing, but the adrenaline flowing through my system didn’t allow me to feel anything but relief. The video showed a rough but smiling finish!

The rest of the day was a blur. Everything looked, smelled, and tasted better. I loved everyone: Bob, the cameraman, my fellow jumpers. Watching my video over and over again, I marveled at the girl smiling into the camera. That youthful, free-spirited, daring person was me! I sped around talking non-stop, until I collapsed that night in bed.

People ask me: will you skydive again? I’m not sure I want to, but I’m glad I took the risk. A small five-foot ladder doesn’t scare me as much as it used to, and I have one less regret in my life. The question I ask myself now is: if I skydived when I turned 30 years old, what will I do when I turn 60?