17,000 Feet

I finally fucking booked it.

Sunday, I’m going skydiving. By myself. And I am unbelievably excited.

I need to continue with my list of everything I’ve ever wanted to do but haven’t, whether I was scared, kept putting it off, or someone else didn’t want to do it with me.

Fuck that. I’m done waiting.

I have this completely different outlook on my life right now, and I don’t want to waste it. I can’t become the best version of myself if I keep hiding from myself.

I wrote before that I need to sit next to the woman I have spent so much of my life begging other people to love. But first, I need to make sure I fucking love her.

That means sitting with my stubbornness, my darkness, and the parts of myself I know need growth. I’m self-aware enough to see my own patterns, but I don’t want to use that awareness to beat myself up anymore.

I want to use it to grow.

I want to spend time with myself. Figure out what I like when nobody else’s opinion is involved. Go places alone. Try things alone. Be scared alone. Be excited alone. Laugh my ass off alone. And learn that being by myself doesn’t automatically mean I’m missing something.

Because people aren’t going to enjoy being around me if I don’t even enjoy being around myself.

So Sunday, I’m taking myself skydiving.

17,000 fucking feet.

And I cannot wait to meet the version of me who lands.