Landing on My Feet

Anytime I’m faced with having to do something that terrifies me, I conjure up the memory of a very specific day when I was 23. I’ve done this when I quit my job, when I had to speak a vulnerable truth, when I let go of a relationships, any time I face a powerful fear. I never thought that day would become a profound moment in my life.

As a 23 year old, I was pretty much fearless. Dying never occurred to me and heights never bothered me, so one day I decided on a whim to jump out of a plane. Last week, I reposted an old entry from my now defunct Xanga about what it was like to go skydiving. At the time, naviete kept me going until the moment I was pushed out of the plane. The decision to skydive, and even the dive itself, were just an adventure that I was determined to experience.

I remember thinking rather dumbly during the first few seconds of free falling, “Well, I hope I live.”

It’s an awesome feeling, free falling. The mind chatter and anxiety that had seemed so important give way to a surge of adrenaline. I felt at once powerful and vulnerable jumping out of that plane, the same way I feel when having an uncomfortable conversation with someone or quitting a job.

Recently, it’s clicking that I reflect on this moment more than I realize. Every time I’ve done something scary, I am again free falling and trusting that I’ll land on my feet.

In skydiving, after the tumbling and discomfort and the adjusting to changes, my chute opens, and then I can breathe again.

And then I land on my feet.

I land on my feet after all that commotion.

That’s the take away. Some of life’s big decisions will result in discomfort and hurt and more fear, but after I grin and bear it, I land on my feet.