I went skydiving.
This took place a while back, but it’s one of those things that could have taken place this morning, let alone yesterday, or longer.
Of course, it was tandem skydiving. When that chute pulled open, and the wind started whipping around my goggles and helmet, nothing short of the tattooed tandem skydiving pro strapped to my back could have possibly gotten me out of that plane.
Indeed, before I even signaled a response to the question, “Are you ready?” the dude took a step back, and we were free-falling amid wisps of clouds toward a patchwork of fields below.
I could decide whether my eyes were open or shut; where your hands and legs floated within what you might call a “snow angel” range; and whether I’d pray, speak, smile, or scream.
We grownups can voluntarily put ourselves into states that are so childlike, can’t we?
“Tuck in your legs,” shouted the tandem jumper, interrupting my reverie.
“Huh?”
“For landing, you’ll need to tuck your legs to your chest.”
A lifetime of PE fails flashed before my eyes.
“I can’t,” I replied after several faltering attempt at drawing my knees up. “I’m not strong enough!”
“You’ve got to tuck in your legs, or you’re going to break them!”
Now, let’s slo-mo this story for a moment, shall we?
In life, the fundamentally human ability to discern what is within our range of control is every bit as important as recognizing when we have to make a decision that extends beyond our range of control.
It might not be as literal as the muscle memory of a pilates pose being the one thing between your and broken legs, and possibly worse for those metaphorically strapped to you—in my case, the tandem jumper literally keeping me alive.
Yet sometimes it is your responsibility to reach beyond your understanding of the broadest range of your ability, or break for your failure to try.
I was very far, at that juncture, from finding a way to try.
Back to the story.
The ground hurtled closer as the tandem jumper repeated, “TUCK IN YOUR LEGS!”
Muscle memory kicked in.
I wrapped my arms tight around my thighs, contorting into a pilates pose ironically titled “Rolling Like a Ball Prep,” and did everything possible to compensate for legs that just wouldn’t lift high enough through will power alone.
We landed.
I can’t clearly remember this part, but we were on the ground, with the bones of my legs intact.
The real hero of this story stayed around just long enough for a quick thumbs up; then he was off, running toward the next dreamer about to be overtaken by a sudden bout of sanity.
Now, here’s the thing.
You can decide you’ve finished what you started in terms of fulfilling a dream to skydive at the point you look up the price, and reject the cost as unrealistic.
You can decide, while in the musty portable building passing off as a skydive company’s “front office”—where you’re watching some sketchy pre-recorded video of a balding dude with a scraggly beard recounting all the reasons you have no business trusting him . . . you may, and perhaps even should, decide that you have quite truly gone as far as you needed to “finish” a journey you started while somewhat more naive.
And that is perfectly fine.
You can maybe even decide you’ve finished what you started at the point that a dude’s strapped to your back, the chute is open, and it’s time to draw back, and jump.
Or maybe not.
Maybe, by that point, you’re already in free fall.
Maybe by that point, you are where you are, and you know in your gut that you can’t really call your goal finished until you’ve tucked up your puny little legs, or let them be shattered beneath you.
For we all learn what is within our control, one way or another, at some point or another. Either way, you will return to earth.
Or, if you really, REALLY want to make my day, would you please consider passing this along to someone you know *gasp!* in real life? :)
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