It was weird. It’s my favorite story. It’s the only way I knew how to start this blog. Let’s get into it….
Before I tell you what I learned, you need to understand the story. It was the summer of 1997. I just graduated college and was spending one more summer in the Northeast before coming back home to the Midwest. Lots to do, so me and some pals made a very short checklist.
- Hike up a mountain.
- Go class 5 white water rafting.
- Go see Phish again.
- Jump out of an airplane.
Turns out that although I lived in Boston, the state of Maine is where I would do all four of these things that summer. The Northeast is fun like that. Drive a few hours in one direction and you’re like 2 states away.
I felt like it was more than college that was coming to an end, it was a lifestyle. It was a culture. It was a state of being. It was kind of everything. I know now it wasn’t everything, but it felt like it back then. So this checklist consisted of things that I felt I could only do while up there with the people that were a part of my everyday life back then.
For this post, let’s focus on #4. This is a story I still tell quite often because it’s so applicable to so many things. Jumping. Taking the leap. Having faith. Trying something new. Facing your fears. Being alive. Sharing experiences. All that. This was all of that.
“Hi, Mom. It’s me. Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry I haven’t called in a while. How are you guys? Cool…oh hey…I’m going to jump out of a plane at 15,000 ft. tomorrow. Just an FYI.”
I never really told my parents about random road trips we took or whatever. It was probably best they didn’t know most of it, actually. But this one, yeah…I felt like I needed to tell them. My mom knew I was going to do it, so I promised to call her when I got back.
Later that day, me and my buddies arrived to the jump site a day early. There were some other people there, too, so we set up camp, burnt up some dinner, and chatted up some other people around the bonfire. It was laid-back. Fun. And then we met AJ.
AJ was drunk. Really drunk. Like fall-down-while-already-laying-down drunk. He was super nice, aware of his spectacular lack of sobriety, and also an employee of the jump company.
Wait wait wait. What was that last part?
“Yeah, bro. I work here (falls backward over a stump). I am in charge of packing all the chutes to make sure they open properly after you jump. Little help? (extends hand). Thanks. Got any weed?” – AJ
What. The. Shit.
The next day, we found AJ as he was packing chutes. “Hey man! So you’re folding and packing the chutes, huh? Nice. Nice. Hey…think you can show me how you do it, you know, because I am super curious and interested and not to just make sure you aren’t doing it hastily or accidentally packing your dirty laundry in it or anything?” – Me (paraphrasing but you get the idea).
AJ and I packed a few chutes. Mainly just him, but I was relieved that he was paying attention to every detail. I felt better. Much better, until it was time to go sign the waiver.
The signing took 30 minutes. We had to read and initial about 50 things all while watching a video called “How to Properly Jump Out of an Airplane and Live to Blog About it in 20 Years” (not the exact title but something like that, probably).
I don’t remember one thing about the waiver. I couldn’t watch the video and read the waiver at the same time so I saw none of what I was sure to be some life-saving video. Oh shit. Was there a clause in the waiver that said that the employees could pretty much murder us and not get in trouble? I think there was. It was on the second to last page near the bottom, wasn’t it? Oh goddammit.
Nah, you guys go ahead. It’s cool. I’ll be right behind you after I’m done acting like I’m not going to throw up barbecue chicken everywhere.
We waited. Like the 20-somethings we were, we passed the time by making each other laugh and acting like we weren’t pooping our pants in fear. Then…names were called. Get to the barn and get your gear on, you’re jumping.
Every one of our names. All of them. Except mine. Oh what the shit.
They all went up. 20 minutes to altitude. 15,000 feet up. Then I watched as my closest friends dropped out of a crappy tin can airplane. I tried to guess which little speck was who. I was alone. Looking towards the sky. Laughing as hard as I have ever laughed in my life.
Then it was my turn, as indicated by the unapologetic butchering of my non-phonetic name over the loud speaker. I threw on a onesie zip-up thing. Put on my helmet (seriously, why even bother? Like I’d fall 15,000 feet with no chute opening, bounce a few times, and say, “Phew, glad I protected the ol’ noggin!”). Strapped on the harness that would attach to the professional skydiver who had the actual parachute (tandem jump). I started walking out of the barn towards the plane. I felt badass. I felt like if I was in a Tarantino movie, this strut to the plane would be in slow motion.
Then I saw it. Hanging on the wall to my right. A bright orange onesie zip-up thing. The one I was wearing was brown. I stopped. “Hey man” I asked, “Can I throw on that orange one instead real quickly?” He asked why. Then I explained that if I wore that orange one, I’d look even more like Luke Skywalker at the end of Episode IV when he was in the X-Wing Fighter and about to blow up the Death Star. I said this straight-faced. I was serious. I wanted to wear the damn orange one. I was surprised when my tandem guy understood. He blinked once then, “Yeah. Totally. Hurry up, they’re waiting for us.” I liked him immediately.
Oh hells yeah.
The next 28 minutes were about as ridiculous as it gets. I want to keep this post short, but it’s hard to do while doing the story justice….so hang in here with me.
Red Five standing by…
I got on the plane. There were 2 side by side bench things that you straddle, facing front. I don’t even remember how many of us were in there, but I’ll say around 20 people (10 pairs of tandem jumpers). All my buddies were on the ground. They knew I was up in the air about to join them via gravity. I stared out the window. Kind of psyched that I had the guts to speak up and rock the orange X-Wing suit. I was happy the guy gave my a few extra minutes to change. I looked good. Spiraling up to altitude took about 20 minutes. I thought I’d chat this cat up. I had to scream for him to hear me as he buckled me to his chest. He was about 55 years old, 6’6” tall, and built like a frickin’ ox.
I asked his name. I forgot his answer, but remember his nickname: “…but everyone just calls me Flash!”
I asked how long he’s been doing this. “Almost 20 years now. I used to be a Chippendale dancer.”
😐
Awesome. It was my last day as a 21 year-old. I thought I was doing ok in life, making adult decisions and ready for adult things. But, alas, my most recent life choices brought me moments away from jumping out of a perfectly good airplane with a former Chippendale dancer named “Flash” attached securely to my back. For the record, he wasn’t shirtless with only a bow tie on. Don’t think I didn’t check.
SMH. If mom could see me now.
The door flew open. It was loud. Really loud. I saw mountains and the ocean.
Then, wouldn’t you know it. People just started jumping out of this thing. I mean, I expected it. I knew it was going to happen. That’s what we all paid for and why we’re up here. But it’s different when you’re right there and it actually happens right in front of you. I was sitting next to a guy on an airplane. Then a few seconds later, he wasn’t inside of the airplane anymore. Wait wait wait. Hold on a second.
Nope. Flash told me he was jumping on three. I asked, “What?” in an attempt buy me some time, but he’s heard that trick before and kept going. He’s probably been getting that stall tactic since his male stripping days. Ohhhhh, “flash.” I get it. Ew.
Three. We were out. I was falling at almost 200 mph. Free fall lasted about 60 seconds, which isn’t a lot of time if you’re trying to go pee during a commercial break, but a lot of time when you’re hurling through space at 200 mph. Every emotion I’ve ever felt was out, full-tilt, all at the same time. Probably some that I’ve never felt before, too. It was all-consuming. He kept screaming at me to look around and not down. It was hard not to look down, but when I looked up…..wow. What. A. View.
So much, that I had no idea what I was supposed to do next. It was weird that I didn’t feel like I was falling. There was nothing next to me to gauge how fast I was going. The ground wasn’t approaching quickly at that height. I was just floating. Oh, and screaming and laughing and probably crying like a little boy with a skinned knee, too, but floating.
Does Superman feel like this all the time?
Flash tapped my shoulder. I pulled the ripcord. It hurt for a second. Oh, so that’s why they tell guys to (ahem) adjust down there. Then we floated down for the next 7-8 minutes. I laughed at finally knowing where the term “stomach in my throat” came from. (Hint: it comes from feeling like your stomach is LITERALLY in your throat. You guys, it was awful.)
I pointed to my crew on the ground and told Flash those were my buddies. He asked if I wanted to fly directly over them. If that isn’t the #1 dumbest question I’ve ever been asked, then it’s tied for first.
One of those guys has a sweet picture of my fly-over with Flash. I’ll try to track it down and update this post. This was before everyone had a pocket computer/phone/camera in their hand, ok? Gimme a break.
Since I was on the taller side, we came to a slide landing like I just stole second base. I immediately tried to get up and jump around but oh yeah, I was still attached to Flash so I waited until he unbuckled me. Then I jumped around. My buddies all ran over to greet me and it was amazing. I haven’t felt like that before or since.
I’ve never jumped out of another plane, but I take a leap every damn day.
Jumping. Taking the leap. Having faith. Trying something new. Facing your fears. Being alive. Sharing experiences. All that. This was – and still is – all of that.
Ever since coming to that sliding landing on that July day in 1997, I knew that for the rest of my life, I’d always be able to do these things whenever I ever needed to, because I just did it. Having this experience in my history has helped me probably more than I have realized.
That was the only time I’ve ever skydived (or is it skydove?), but having faith, and “taking the leap” has been done many times since. Every time I’ve ever walked onto a stage to speak, play drums, or play guitar in front of an audience. It happened when I donated a kidney in 2007 (we’ll get to that in another post). It happened when I left my corporate job to start my own business. And it happens every single day when I wake up as a husband to a woman I don’t deserve, and as a father to three boys that think I’m actually good at things.
It’s weird to have so many life lessons packed into just a few minutes.
There will always be some form of AJ that seems harmless but freaks you out and challenges your state of mind. It can be a lesson if you want it to be.
Sometimes you’ll unexpectedly be left all alone to do something scary, so do whatever it takes to get through it, even if it’s wearing a helmet for no reason other than peace of mind or dressing like you’re about to save the galaxy.
When you feel like you’re not getting anywhere, recognize that indescribable combination of bulletproof and stomach-in-throat-I’m-about-to-barf-I-hate-this-no-wait-I-love-this feeling to remind you that you are.
And for God’s sake, don’t forget to look around. The view is awesome.
Trust the process. These kind of free falls aren’t really falls and definitely take more than 60 seconds. Landing on your feet is ok, but slide landings work, too. You’ll probably have loved ones cheering no matter what, and if you’re lucky, one of them took a picture so you’ll never forget that you actually did it.
