About a year ago, I made a mistake. I mentioned that I’d considered doing a sky dive. There was another part to that sentence that went something along the lines of … but I’m not sure I’m game … yano … it was a passing thought, not a commitment.
The mistake? Opening my mouth when my darling daughter-in-law was listening. Unlike my wonderful sons, she didn’t let that comment slide into forgotten territory.
Oh, no. She organised a gift sky dive.
I spent much of the year tentatively (ie in my head only) scheduling the jump and then recanting because it wasn’t sensible to book it before Book Week. Or our overseas holiday. Or …
You get the picture.
Then over Christmas we caught up with my cousin and his family. And he was so excited for me, that I realised I needed to reframe the anticipation.
No longer would I think about the injuries I might sustain. Now I would think about what a thrill it would be. I made the booking the following day.
This is what it looks like from below: tiny specks gradually emerging from the blue.
But from where I was?
I sat on the edge of the plane, feet outside and tucked under and then dropped. Free fall from 15000 feet.
And it was totally thrilling. The world looked so blue, so neatly patterned. The sea was as bright as the sky. And I was weightless in it. Jumping tandem meant I could leave all the decisions to Jason, and just enjoy it.
And when he pulled the chute and we slowed to hang in the sky, gently turning this way and that, time seemed to almost stop.
I don’t really need to tell you how I feel – look at that smile! That’s how it was. Then and for the next hours.
We detoured on our way home to visit Breamlea Beach, where a budding engineer had build the largest channel and dam I’d ever seen on sand.
Or maybe it was that everything in my post-jump world was just bigger and brighter than it had been.