Diving into 2011

“Don’t fuck this up,” he smiles. I’m sitting on his lap, his lips are close to my ear, his breath the only warm thing in the small space. I can hear him smiling. I can’t help but smile too at my tattooed, dreadlocked partner even though he can’t see my face.

We head for the way out, the floor trembling beneath us.

My feet rock back and forth on the bottom edge of the cargo door. My mitten-covered hands (it’s cold up here!) grasp the thick nylon harness, my heart under the clip and strap intensive getup beat.beat.beating.

“One, two,…” the three is lost as we hurtle through the freezing air at 13,000 feet. We flip upside down and the plane doesn’t even register as an object in my brain at all as the only thing I want is to be facing the ground again. Strange for someone afraid of heights. Of course choosing to jump out of an airplane when even rock climbing produces massive panic attacks is pretty strange too. Even stranger? Doing it because you got a half off coupon on the internet. There are certain things you don’t want discounts for: plastic surgery or Lasik may be couple (I’ve received offers for both). Skydiving may be another. But somehow my desire to join the parachuting crowd won over my best judgment.

I found myself staring at the ground. The recent rains transformed the chaparral desert that is San Diego into a lush green landscape. Look up, look around! The mountains, the Pacific, downtown, the bay, Mexico swirled in my view as the air rushed past my goggled, watering eyes.

At one point I remember thinking, Pull the damn parachute already! But we still had a couple thousand feet to go.

In the waiting room a half an hour before, I initialed dozens of boxes that all basically said the same thing: If something happens and you die or are maimed, there is no way in hell that the skydiving company will be responsible. Don’t even try it buddy.

(Initial Initial Initial)

Oh, and your insurance will probably deny the claim.

Hmmm.

(Initial Initial)

The reassuring part of the paperwork? It said that the equipment had a self-activating emergency parachute that would be deployed at 1,000 feet. So hey, if the instructor is struck by my ponytail whipping about and he's blinded in pain and can't check his altimeter or the leg harnesses squeeze the vitals a little too roughly and he passes out with discomfort, the chute will still come out and we'll plummet to the ground a little less violently.

Of course, there is a disclaimer about equipment failure too. (Initial)

We are rushing to the ground. The airfield is getting closer. I see other jumpers floating under gray or yellow chutes.

Then boom. That feeling you get in the elevator. My stomach drops as we seems to fall more quickly for a second and then are jerked upwards.

The parachute has been deployed! About time!

I wait for him to say “Uh-oh” as the guy who did the safety briefing on the ground said the instructor might say if it all got fucked up and the emergency chute was needed. Instead he spun us around and pointed out all the sights.

I hadn’t screamed the entire freefall. I think that my mind was too busy processing what the hell was going on. Now that we were floating, however, my mouth took on its own life. Expletives and all. For me, the freefalling wasn’t as scary as the sensation of hanging from another person, clipped in by four measly metal clippies, the other person being the one actually wearing the parachute that will get us both safely to the ground (if the harness doesn’t fail).

“You can let go of your harness,” he said.

“Ha,” I gave a nervous little laugh. “It’s OK, I’m just…. Holy Shit!” I didn’t get to tell him of my fear of heights as we zoomed into a downward spiral. I started laughing and fighting the urge to tell him to take it easy on the tricks. I was skydiving for god’s sake. Make the most of this thrill! Be scared, deal with it. You’re not going to fall. I mean, you are falling. And you’re OK.

I once read something by a woman who had anxiety attacks (I’m not sure if from a fear of heights or a fear of crowded rooms or a fear of singing chipmunks, but the fear was there). The way she got through the attacks or at least lessened the magnitude was to say to herself, “In this moment, are you ok?” And she would answer herself, “Yes.” She would repeat this personal exchange until it clicked into her mind that "Yes, I am fine." Don’t think about the future and all the things that could go wrong (clips breaking, Alvin singing “Christmas don’t be late”), instead know that you are alive and well in this moment.

And this moment is all that matters.

So as I was drifting, spinning, racing towards the ground and the occasional panicky thought would arise, I’d tell myself in the best Jack Handy inner voice I could muster that I was OK.

And it worked.

The landing field rose to my feet and we took a couple of awkward four legged steps together, Tattoo Ron and I, before he unclipped and congratulated me.

“I’m afraid of heights, but man that was amazing!” I blurted out.

“Now you tell me!” he laughed.

We shook hands and I stumbled off the field, my legs rubbery, my heart still pounding, a huge smile on my face.

Do I need to skydive again? Not necessarily. It was the perfect way to start off an adventurous 2011 full of bold moves and intuitive forward movement and saying yes (and I’m OK) to (perceived) scary situations.

Hey, maybe I’ll even try rock climbing again.

Because you know what, in this very moment, I am OK.