Skydiving

Last Thursday was our third wedding anniversary and it was my turn to come up with a plan. I wanted this one to be memorable, so I signed Dan up for his first skydive. Jumping out of a plane at 90 miles per hour, above 10,000 feet, should be memorable, right? And so I went with cash enough to pay for Dan’s jump and to those that asked me if I wanted to go, I would politely reply, “He**, no.” And use the cash situation as back up.

Even though I was comfortably on the ground the whole time, (my brick-wall strategy worked), something miraculous happened: I actually left the skydiving outfit thinking that one day I might want to give it a whirl. SERIOUSLY? I am still shocked.

As I reflect on how that happened to this Chicken Little, my mind keeps going back to the community that surrounded us for those two hours. People who loved what they do. People who trusted their team. People who had confidence in what they put their faith in...the parachute (at least for the moments of the day when they are falling through the sky). I don’t think I became an adrenaline junky overnight, but I do think I saw something people were experiencing, they joy they had, and I thought: I want to be a part of that.