Sometimes you just have to jump…
Even if you think you’re going to hurl
When I was a teenager, I was frightened of so many things. Myself, other people, heights.
So I focused on the easy stuff first, and completed my parachute training to my parent’s comfortingly loud complaints.
The first jump was simple, I just followed the training, and relied on the chute, packed by someone else, presumably more competent than me.
The second jump had me sweating, nauseous and shaking, despite the care I’d taken with repacking the gear. You see I knew, first hand, about those moments where you’re alone, and falling and vulnerable to destabilizing forces.
The jump master talked me past my fear, out the door and his voice rang in my head for those four endless seconds of free-fall before the static line deployed my chute. The full, round shape of the old canopy style was the happiest sight I could have imagined and I enjoyed every bit of the ride down, even my less-than-textbook landing.
And you know what? I’d passed my own test, and never felt the need to jump again.
But…
This Blog feels a little like that first jump – and I hope it’s only me that wants to hurl.