The strongest memory of heart-pounding, belly-twisting nervousness I have is when I jumped out of an airplane. Flying up into the sky; being hooked onto someone with two metal clips; soaring to the ground with nothing in between us. The act held such meaning for me; I had gotten through the darkness of high school, and I was standing at the edge of opportunity. My grandma had always told me, “Better to die on your feet than to live on your knees,” so it was fitting that we put the plan of me skydiving in motion together.
Jumping out, the wind was knocked from me. I struggled to breathe, struggled to grasp just what in the hell I was doing. But as I fell, as I opened my eyes and looked below me, and as I landed, I felt that I could do anything.
The fight or flight kicked in … though instead of fighting, instead of running, I took in the moment completely and allowed it to unravel me.
Here is some footage:
What is your moment?