I've wanted to go skydiving for as long as I can remember.
It was on my bucket list. I'd talked about it for years. Every time the subject came up, I would say how badly I wanted to jump out of a plane.
But I never actually took the steps to do it.
I never booked the jump. I never picked a date. I just kept talking about it.
And I always had an excuse.
For a long time, my excuse was that my son wanted to go skydiving too, so I would wait until he turned 18 and we could do it together.
Well, his 18th birthday came and went.
And guess what?
I still hadn't jumped.
It remained one of those things I talked about doing someday.
Until my sister jumped out of a plane.
Sometimes Someone Else's Courage Makes You Question Your Own
Here's what you need to understand about my sister.
Growing up, she was afraid of almost everything.
So imagine my surprise when I found out she'd gone skydiving.
She didn't tell anyone she was going to do it. She just went, jumped out of a perfectly good airplane, and told us about it afterward.
I was so excited for her.
But I have to admit something.
I was also a little jealous.
Maybe envious is the better word.
She had taken action where I had not. She had experienced something I'd been wanting to experience for years.
And for some reason, it ate at me.
I felt ashamed of myself. Almost like I was behind.
Why could my sister, who had been afraid of everything as a kid, find the courage to do something I'd been talking about forever?
What was stopping me?
It was an uncomfortable question, but it was also the kick in the ass I needed.
I finally booked the jump.
And because we scheduled it a few weeks out, I had plenty of time to sit with that question.
What Are You Actually Afraid Of?
Here's something I had to admit to myself.
Just because I wanted to skydive didn't mean I wasn't afraid.
I think sometimes we convince ourselves that if we really want something, we shouldn't be afraid of doing it.
But that's bullshit.
You can want something badly and still be nervous about it.
So instead of ignoring my fear, I started getting curious about it.
What was I actually afraid of?
Was it jumping out of the plane?
No.
Was it the freefall?
Not really. I was actually looking forward to that part, although I did wonder if my stomach would end up somewhere near my throat.
Was I worried about the parachute opening and jerking me around?
A little.
But the more I thought about it, the more I realized something.
I wasn't afraid to jump. I was afraid to land.
Seriously.
I'm short, and I had this image in my head of not being able to get my legs up properly during the landing. I imagined hitting the gravel while my tandem instructor coasted along on my back like I was some kind of human skid board.
Not exactly the graceful ending I had envisioned.
And somehow, that one part of the experience had been enough to keep me from doing something I'd wanted to do for years.
Once I figured that out, something changed.
There's something powerful about knowing exactly what's holding you back. Once you identify it, it has far less power over you.
Instead of worrying about everything that could possibly go wrong, I could focus on the one thing that was actually bothering me.
I told myself that when I got to the hangar, I would ask questions. I would listen carefully to the instructions, especially the ones about landing.
And then I let myself focus on the excitement.
I didn't pretend I wasn't nervous.
I was nervous as hell but excited as shit.
Both things were true.
I was excited to jump but nervous about landing.
I was looking forward to the freefall but worried about how it might feel.
I was happy there would be a parachute but wondered what it would feel like when it opened.
All of those feelings existed in my brain and heart at the same time.
And that was okay.
I'd made the commitment. I was going to jump.
I could choose to focus my energy on the excitement instead of letting the nerves take over.
"Don't Worry, I've Got You."
When we arrived at the hangar, something unexpected happened.
I felt an overwhelming sense of peace.
It was almost like the nerves had left my body.
Right before we got our gear on, my sister asked me if I was scared.
I said no.
And I meant it.
I remember telling her, "If he isn't nervous, there's no reason for me to be."
I was talking about my tandem instructor.
Think about it. This man was about to jump out of the same airplane, attached to me.
He does this up to nine times a day, and he's still here.
If he has confidence in himself, who am I to doubt him?
As he was getting all the gear on me, I used the opportunity to ask every question I had about the landing.
He answered all of them.
But more importantly, he made me feel heard.
He didn't dismiss my concerns or make me feel silly for asking.
He simply said, "Don't worry, I've got you."
And I believed him.
Sometimes we get so caught up in thinking we have to figure everything out ourselves that we forget there are people who know how to do the things we don't.
People who have experience.
People who can guide us.
People we can trust.
I didn't have to know how to land a parachute.
I needed to understand my part, follow the instructions, and trust the person who did know how.
The Moment I Finally Jumped
The plane ride up to altitude was incredibly surreal.
It was happening.
I was actually about to jump out of a plane.
I kept looking out the window as the world below got smaller and smaller. I watched the mountains as we climbed higher and higher.
And I remember feeling proud of myself.
So proud of myself.
I'd spent years talking about doing this, and now I was actually doing it.
When the hatch door popped open and I felt the air hit my face, I got a little rush of adrenaline.
It reminded me that I was taking a risk.
But it also reminded me of the instructions we'd been given.
I knew I was going to be okay.
I leaned out of the plane, and my instructor pushed us forward.
And just like that, we were falling through the sky.
The first few seconds catch your breath.
Mostly because you realize you just purposefully jumped out of a perfectly good airplane.
But then something incredible happens.
Everything gets quiet.
The world below comes into focus.
And it is absolutely stunning.
I was looking down at the mountains and the landscape, taking in a view of the world I'd never experienced before.
And I kept thinking to myself, "Why did I wait so long?"
What my instructor heard was, "Holy shit, this is awesome!"
And it was.
It was everything I'd hoped it would be and more.
But here's the thing.
I didn't want to go skydiving because I'm some kind of adrenaline junkie.
I wanted to go skydiving so I could say to myself, "You bad bitch, you jumped out of a plane."
I wanted that experience to be part of me.
Part of CJ.
Not just something I dreamed about or talked about doing.
Something I'd actually experienced.
Something that would forever be part of my story.
And Then Came the Landing
Remember that part I'd spent years worrying about?
The landing?
Well, it was time.
And what I realized about the landing was that my fear wasn't really about hitting the ground.
It was about letting go of control.
For that part of the experience, I had to trust that my instructor was going to get us safely back to the ground without slamming me into the gravel.
I had to let go completely and let him do his thing.
So I did exactly what I was told.
I picked up my legs, pulled my knees toward my chest, and let him bring us back down.
And you know what happened?
We slid across the gravel, and I rode on his lap like a kid on a winter sled.
It was smooth.
It was seamless.
And it was nothing like the disaster I'd been imagining.
All those years I'd spent worrying about the landing, and it turned out to be one of the easiest parts of the experience.
But the realization stayed with me.
What I thought was fear of landing was really fear of not being in control.
And when I thought about that a little more, it made sense.
For much of my life, I'd been the person trying to keep everyone happy and keep the peace.
Somewhere along the way, I'd developed this belief that if I could control everything, I could keep bad things from happening.
I could make sure everyone was okay.
I could make sure everything worked out.
But that's not really how life works, is it?
We can prepare. We can ask questions. We can make thoughtful decisions.
But we can't control every outcome.
And sometimes our need to stay in control becomes the very thing keeping us from experiencing something incredible.
That doesn't mean we should blindly trust everyone or throw caution to the wind.
It means recognizing the difference between what is ours to control and what isn't.
I could control whether I booked the jump.
I could control whether I showed up.
I could control whether I asked questions and followed the instructions.
But I couldn't control every second of the experience.
And I didn't need to.
What Are You Waiting to Do?
I've thought a lot about that jump since we got back.
Not just because it was an incredible experience, but because of how long I waited to have it.
How many times had I talked about wanting to go skydiving?
How many excuses had I made?
How much time had I spent imagining what could go wrong instead of considering what could go right?
And I wonder how many of us are doing the same thing in other areas of our lives.
Maybe you've been talking about starting a business for years, but you keep finding reasons why now isn't the right time.
Maybe you've always wanted to write a book, but you haven't written the first page.
Maybe you're unhappy in your career, but the uncertainty of making a change feels overwhelming.
Maybe you're questioning your relationship, but you're afraid of what life might look like if things changed.
Sometimes we're afraid of taking the action.
But sometimes we're actually afraid of what happens afterward.
We're afraid we'll fail.
We're afraid we'll regret it.
We're afraid we won't be able to handle the outcome.
Or maybe, like me, we're afraid of what happens when we're no longer in complete control.
The problem is that when we don't take the time to understand our fear, we allow it to make decisions for us.
And we can spend years waiting for a sense of certainty that may never come.
You Don't Have to Go From 0 to 60
If there's something you've been wanting to do, something that keeps tugging at you, I want to encourage you to take one small step.
For me, that step was booking the jump.
I didn't have to jump out of the plane that day.
I just had to put a date on the calendar.
That one decision gave me the opportunity to start working through everything that had been holding me back.
For you, maybe it's starting the business plan.
Maybe it's writing the first ten pages of that book you've always wanted to write.
Maybe it's researching a new career or talking to people who are already doing what you'd love to do.
Maybe it's getting honest with yourself about why you're unhappy in your relationship and exploring what a change could look like.
You don't have to go from 0 to 60.
Going from 0 to 5 is still a step forward.
And sometimes that first small step is all you need to start seeing things differently.
I also want to tell you something else.
Bet on yourself.
If there's something tugging at you, you owe it to yourself to investigate it.
You don't have to have every answer.
You don't have to know exactly how everything is going to turn out.
And you certainly don't have to wait until you're no longer afraid.
You can be nervous as hell and excited as shit.
You can feel uncertain and still move forward.
You can prepare, ask questions, seek support, and trust yourself enough to take the next step.
Because here's what I learned from finally jumping out of that plane.
Sometimes the thing we've been avoiding isn't nearly as scary as the story we've been telling ourselves about it.
And sometimes, the experience on the other side of that fear is better than anything we could have imagined.
Too often, we hold ourselves back from the jump because we're afraid of the landing.
But maybe, just maybe, the landing will be the best part.
