Jumping Was The Easy Part

Skydiving? Fuck.

That was the most incredible thing I have ever experienced.

It was somehow the most exhilarating thing I have ever done and one of the most calming and peaceful at the exact same time. I don’t even know how to explain that.

I can tune things out pretty well, and somehow I was able to essentially tune out the wind. There were moments up there where it almost felt silent. I was just looking out at everything, taking it all in, and I didn’t want to come down. I wanted to stay in the sky.

I’ve always loved flying. I can stare out an airplane window the entire flight and never get bored. But this wasn’t that. This is something I genuinely don’t know how to put into words. You’re not looking at the world through a window anymore. You’re just fucking in it.

And the craziest part is that I wasn’t scared.

I wasn’t nervous getting into the plane. I wasn’t nervous going up. I wasn’t nervous sitting there knowing I was about to jump out of a perfectly functioning airplane. I was unbelievably excited. Honestly, I was shocked by how calm I was.

I even asked him, “Can we flip?”

His demeanor probably helped. He joked about safety and said he thinks it puts people more at ease. But trust me, I was already at ease. There was nothing I wanted more than to barrel roll out of that plane like I watched the other people do.

And now I want more.

I will find a way to save the money because I want to jump out of a plane on my own. Whether that’s with a parachute or eventually one of those fucking suits you can actually fly in, I don’t know. But I’m doing this again.

Because today was about doing shit I’ve let fear stop me from doing. And skydiving wasn’t even the first thing.

I started the day by going to church.

I haven’t been to church since Mom passed. And I didn’t just pick some random church to make it easier on myself.

I went to hers.

The last time I was there was her funeral.

I was nervous about that. Probably more nervous than I was about jumping out of the plane. I thought I was going to cry. There was a moment where I got a little teary-eyed, but I kept my emotions in check. I stayed. I listened. And I’m glad I went.

But I also realized it isn’t my church. It’s Mom’s church.

I think part of me went there looking for her. Maybe looking for some kind of connection or meaning because it was hers. And I just didn’t feel it.

That’s okay.

I learned something from going. I learned what I actually need from a church. I need direction. The sermon matters to me more than the gospels and the singing. The singing just made me feel a little out of place. Not embarrassed. It just wasn’t what I needed.

So I’m going somewhere different next week.

I know I’ve felt that connection before, and that’s what I’m looking for now.

Not Mom’s church.

Mine.

Then I jumped out of a fucking airplane. And after that, somehow just sitting still felt wrong.

My adrenaline was pumping and I remember thinking, fuck, I don’t want to just sit in a car now unless I can go fast. And Wonder, she can go fast, but it’s not the same. It’s not American muscle, and it sure as hell isn’t falling through the sky.

But I drove the 41 minutes from Grand Haven to Walker. And now I’m sitting next to my mom. Right next to my grandma. Just being here. And this place scares the shit out of me.

I made sure I was here when they put Mom’s urn into the ground. I put the first dirt over her because I wanted to have a good relationship with this spot. I wanted this to be somewhere I could come and feel close to her instead of somewhere I was afraid to be.

It didn’t work. Big surprise. I let fear get in the way. But today I came anyway.

And sitting here after everything else I did today, I think that’s what today was actually about.

Three things.

I walked back into mom’s church. A place I hadn’t stepped foot in since her funeral. I jumped out of a fucking airplane. And I came here (cemetery) and sat beside her.

And somehow jumping out of the airplane was the easiest one.

Fear has controlled so much of my life without me even realizing how much power I was giving it. Fear of what could happen. Fear of what might happen. Fear of every possible scenario I could play out in my head so I could prepare for it, prevent it, fix it, or control it.

Fuck controlling things.

Maybe that’s part of what I loved so much about being in the sky. I wasn’t in control.

And instead of terrifying me, it made me feel fucking free.

There was nothing to fix. Nothing to prepare for. Nothing to overthink. For those few minutes, I couldn’t play out every possible ending in my head.

I was just there. And it was peaceful.

So I’m done letting fear make my decisions for me.

Anything I want to do, I’m going to find a way to do it. No more fucking excuses. Because if I haven’t done something, how the hell do I even know I don’t like it?

Maybe I will hate some of it. Maybe I’ll fail. Maybe I’ll look stupid. Maybe I’ll get hurt. Maybe things won’t go the way I planned.

Good.

Because I’m starting to think maybe the point isn’t controlling what happens.

Maybe the point is actually fucking living through it.

Fear doesn’t control me. I control me. And I am not wasting any more of my life being afraid of what-ifs.