a raw take on my life as it is: unpredictable, frightening and wildly exciting.

There have been some interesting posts coming from my friends over at Skydive Addiction about whether or not we should discuss skydiving amongst our friends and family that don’t have this strange desire to throw themselves out of airplanes.

Adam said the people who haven’t done it just don’t get it. For the most part, I think he’s right. I mean, it takes a special species of human to enjoy what we enjoy doing on the weekends.

But, my family gets it. So do some of my friends. Not all of them, but most of them. My friends that get it are people that have something in their life that they’re just as crazy about as I am skydiving. Be it a band, or cooking, or sailing, or whatever, they can identify with my obsession in some capacity because they feel it for something too. They’ll probably never fully comprehend why I prefer to plummet towards the earth at 120+mph, but it’s better than nothing.

My parents in particular are totally on-board and really get it. They know that skydiving saved me from myself. I was in desperate need of a hobby and friends outside of the work slash social media crowd. I needed a change. I needed, well, anything. I needed something to help balance that out so I didn’t burn out. Then I found skydiving.

They understand that it’s a lifestyle change. They understand why I go out there every weekend, regardless of whether or not I’m jumping. Chicago is a fast city. Hinckley is not. I like having both. I can be go, go, go from Monday morning to Friday afternoon and then live my life in slow motion once I get to the drop zone. It’s funny, because in Chicago when we’re making plans, I always have an opinion and am a bit stubborn if plans don’t go my way. In Hinckley, I really don’t care where we go or what we do after we’re done jumping because I make decisions all week long. I like to take a break from being a decision-maker and let it all come together.

My parents also know that a lot of it is the people. Since I’m so quick to make friends and give 110% of myself to these new friends that I deem are worth caring about, my mom is telling me to guard my heart. Who knows what will happen after season is over? Most of my new friends are nomads and follow the sunshine when it gets cold here. Once it’s too chilly to jump at CSC, some of them head to New Zealand, Florida, Arizona, anywhere where they can go instruct during the off-season, and then they come back in March or April. Mom said she’ll be happy to hear that I’m still as happy as I am now in six months, when things shut down here. I tell her I’m not thinking that far ahead because one, that’s not healthy, and two, I’d miss out on all of the awesome that is happening RIGHTTHISSECOND. I don’t want to be sitting around in November wishing I had done XYZ during season but didn’t because I was too concerned about what would happen down the road.

So maybe it’s less about whether or not we should discuss skydiving with non-skydivers, but more about what we discuss and how we should discuss it. Would I ever try to discuss the mechanics of the four-way jump I did on Sunday or try to explain why I keep landing in the corn (despite the fact that I was trained by incredible skydivers) with non-skydivers? Probably not. But can I try to translate my passion for the sport into a language they can apply to their own lives? Absolutely.

For me it’s a lot more of the lifestyle slash philosophy slash personal growth that I get from each jump and each minute spent around fellow skydivers. And, fortunately, that stuff is easy to share with the people who don’t jump out of planes.

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If I were in a relationship with skydiving, I’d say we’re playing it fast and loose and things are looking like they could get pretty serious. We’ve already been through a lot together, skydiving and I. We’ve shared my first jump, my first stand-up landing (yay!), my first cutaway, my graduations, many beers after a day full of jumping (perhaps one too many sometimes), my highest highs and my lowest lows. Skydiving has seen me nervous, excited, disgruntled, in the midst of a gigantic adrenaline rush, and totally unfiltered. I’ve invested a lot into skydiving, both time and money, and I’m most definitely reaping the rewards from that.

Skydiving really is like being in a relationship. You only get out of it what you put into it, the newness of it is ridiculously addicting, there are ample opportunities to learn more about yourself, and the high you get after a great jump just can’t be beat.

Before you get into any semblance of a serious relationship, however, you have to test the waters. With skydiving, you’re jumping with different instructors, trying out different canopy sizes and learning a bunch of skills that, when you put them all together, will turn you into a safe, and hopefully awesome, skydiver.

Your first solo jump, much like a first date, is a nerve-wracking experience. You’re all excited as you get dressed for the occasion. You double and triple-check everything to make sure it’s in its proper place before you leave. On the way up, you’re thinking of what you need to do, your plans for this particular experience, and naturally, what to do if things go wrong. You review your emergency procedures and before you know it, you’re there. And you jump. You take that leap and after you do, at least at first, there isn’t any stress. Just freedom. But it’s not over. You have to finish. You have to land safely from the clouds so you can do it again.

Once you land, you analyze every single second of the experience. What went well? What didn’t go well? How can you fix the bad stuff and capitalize on the good stuff? As you continue jumping, you continue to learn. What makes you tick? Are you good at receiving feedback and correcting your errors? Are you asking questions to help you get better or are you just smiling and nodding? How long should you wait before you jump again? Are you moving too fast? Are you moving too slow?

Then you graduate. It’s symbolic. Not like breaking up, but like growing up. You technically don’t need the hand-holding. You start to grow in the sport, and if you’re lucky, you have a handful of people who want to teach you and help you grow to be the best skydiver you possibly can.

Your first licensed jump is like that first big milestone in a relationship. You’re a real, live, certified skydiver. It’s totally up to you to save your own life. It’s also up to you to go after what you want and make it happen. If you want to explore a certain style, you have to make it happen, nobody will do it for you. If there is someone you want to jump with, ask them. If there are people that you think fly like total jackasses, avoid them like the plague.

People will talk. Let them. Listen to what they’re saying. You can learn as much on the ground as you can in the sky.

You’ll have bad days. Days when you can’t jump because you’re too broke or the winds are too high, or worse, you’re injured. You’ll have good days, when everything goes smoothly and you’re just a giggly mess because everything is working out so well. You’ll learn your limits, who to avoid and who you want to stay close to. You’ll identify the type of skydiver you want to be and who believes in you enough to help you get there. You’ll think about skydiving constantly, and you’ll look back at your life before skydiving and laugh when you realize that you weren’t even close to living life to it’s fullest until you took that first jump. You’ll struggle with balancing skydiving and the rest of your life, because all you want to do is jump.

I can’t wait to see where things go from here, both on the ground and in the sky.

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25 jumps to my A-license. 25 things on the list. 25 years on this planet. 25 minutes of freefall so far. 25 is looking to be a promising number, and an incredible year.

This weekend, I earned my A-license. I’m coming to find out that this skydiving thing is much, much larger than throwing myself out of airplanes.

There’s a whole lifestyle and attitude adjustment that comes with this sport. Some people only do it once. Some people jump on the weekends. Some people drop everything and make this their life. Regardless of which path you choose (or which path chooses you, perhaps), if you’ve done it at least once, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

The addiction starts with freefall. But it isn’t limited to freefall, though freefall is pretty damn fantastic. For me, it’s a lot of things. I’ve always been incredibly in tune with my senses when it comes to things that I enjoy. In rowing, for example, a huge part of my obsession with the sport was the sound of oars locking and the swish as they came out of the water. With skydiving, it’s the smell of jet fuel. The hot air that blows from the propeller as you get on the plane. The sound of audible altimeters beeping at 1,000 feet and seatbelts coming off. The sound the wind makes when you stick your body out of the plane and that resistance you feel until you let go. And it’s the taste of that first beer after an amazing day of jumping, where you swear beer has never tasted so good.

The addiction isn’t just to the actual sport of skydiving, either. It’s about the people. An environment where everyone is always learning, and regardless of who you are, you’re welcome there. Where there is a really low tolerance for bullshit and assholes. For me, there are a handful of skydivers at the DZ that I feel like I’ve known for much longer than the month I’ve been there. It’s about hearing everyone’s stories about their first jump and how they got to where they are today in the sport, whether they’re a fun jumper, an instructor, or an old-timer who is retired and sharing stories of the “good ole days.”

The addiction isn’t just to the sport itself or the people. It’s also the personal growth that you experience with each and every jump. My first jump was huge because I actually did it. I had been talking for months about how I wanted to get my A License but I had questioned whether or not I’d actually be able to do it. I didn’t know if I’d be able to get stable in freefall or fly the canopy. My graduation jump was nothing short of incredible. The actual skydive, technically, could have been way better – I’m still trying to figure out how to side slide. But that jump totally rocked my world because I did it. I was with the same instructors as I was on my first jump and though it may have been my last jump as a student, it was a day full of firsts.

It was worth the wait. All of the wind and weather holds, sunburns, repeated levels, bruises from hard openings, ridiculous amounts of beer I had to buy, the written and unwritten rules associated with AFF, all of that was worth it. I couldn’t wipe this goofy grin off of my face if I tried. I can’t wait to see where things go from here!

I did it!

Up next: I’m looking for gear. And that bag of cash that I hid somewhere.

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If you’re reading this through RSS or on the actual website, then you’re probably the half of my audience that hasn’t ever jumped out of a plane. Or if you have, maybe once or twice. If you’re reading this through Facebook (namely the Freefall University page) then you probably have. That being said, my fourth jump on Saturday was one of, if not the most important jumps of my life.

To skydivers, this post will resonate because they’ll remember their first cutaway, their first thoughts after said cutaway, or, if they haven’t had to chop their main canopy yet, they know someone who has, and can relate to it that way. To my colleagues, professional contacts, friends and family members, this will likely terrify you. Do not be alarmed. I’m alive (obviously). All is well. I’m trained on how to handle these things.

For the sake of semantics, this weekend I almost died. I had a parachute malfunction and had to rely on my reserve parachute to save my life.

But in all actuality, I didn’t. This is where the semantics and audience thing kicks in. To all of my non-skydiving friends, yes, quite literally, I almost died. To my skydiving friends, I chopped, I lived, now I need to buy beer.

I mean, I could have died, yes, but I didn’t. I didn’t die because I knew exactly what to do. I didn’t die because I paid attention during ground school. I didn’t die because my instructors are fantastic. I didn’t die because I’m not an asshole in the sky. I didn’t die because I always have my ears and eyes open and my head on a swivel, both on the ground and in the sky. I didn’t die because there are three people who come to mind as being credited with me not dying, besides myself for pulling the proper cables in the proper order.

I owe way more than a case of beer to my AFF instructors Barry and Chris and to the man that packed my reserve parachute, Eric. Beer, no matter how delicious (Half Acre) or how cheap (PBR), doesn’t even start to cover how thankful I am that I have those three men in my life in whatever capacity they are in it. But beer is the tradition, so that’s fine. There are tons of other people who have been instrumental in my training and success so far in skydiving, but when it comes down to life or death situations and how to get out of them alive, these three come to mind. I’ll spare you the gushing about each of them individually because I already have done so to their faces, but, guys, seriously – thanks a million.

I didn’t (and don’t) want to dwell on this too much because at the end of the day, I’m alive, I’m well, and honestly, totally fine with what happened. To my non-skydiving buddies, you can all officially think I’m crazy now. I know it was up in the air before, but go ahead and coin me as nuts.

Here’s the thing: at the DZ, this doesn’t seem like that big of a deal in comparison to some other malfunctions that have happened. I chopped at a relatively high altitude, giving me plenty of time to make it back safely to the drop zone. I was only spinning for a couple of seconds before I deployed my reserve. I knew EXACTLY what to do, which was calming, and I had 1,500 feet of reserve ride down to take deep breaths and realize that everything was indeed okay.

What’s more? I couldn’t wait to get back up in the air. I took an hour-long break, called my folks, explained what happened and that I was okay, took a nap in my car away from the heat and noise of the DZ and then got back up and did it again. I knew that my malfunction was a packing error, I knew what I did right and wrong on that jump, and I was eager to get up again and prove to myself that sometimes shit happens. And I did. And it does.

My key takeaway? There is always a solution. That, and I highly doubt I’ll be freaking out about the small stuff anytime soon. High five to skydiving for calming me down.

So here’s the video. At 1:10 you can see me start to spin. At 1:15 you hear Matt, my instructor, yell “CHOP IT” because he sees that I have a malfunction. The remainder of the video is Matt landing out so he can grab my main canopy. Thanks Matt!

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