When Christian, the man who would be attached to my back, held the small GoPro camera up to my face for any last words I looked into the camera with an uneasy smile and beaming eyes and said, "you're not living until you are almost dying."I then proceeded to watch my best friend possibly plummet to her death.
I looked away, hesitated and then glanced once again at the 180-degree view. The pointed, ginormous snow-capped mountains did not look as inviting from this angle. My stomach dropped, but Christian edged me out onto the helicopter pad. I took in the surreal landscape of Interlaken one last time and thought, I guess this is really happening.
Then, rather than jumping, I stretched my back and allowed my body to fall through the clouds... only I actually did a backflip. "That's the only way I can jump," said Christian later. "I didn't want to freak you out by telling you beforehand."
Nonetheless, it was a moment unlike any I had ever experienced before.
It was like committing a suicide that only made you more alive.
The cold air rushed past me as I accelerated faster and faster. Yet, time seemed to slow. I was in a transitive state, between two worlds—not belonging with the heavens above, nor the society down below. My lungs felt like they were being crushed together and I had to gasp repeatedly to breathe.
But, it didn't matter I was fearlessly flying—finally feeling at peace that I belonged somewhere.
Perhaps this feeling of belonging came from my love of being high up. I felt most alive when I was looking upward from my second-floor dorm window or climbing a bell tower. When I did either of these things, I was reminded that there is so much more of the world I must see and things I must do.
Once the parachute popped open, Christian chatted in my ear on how to properly land. "Feet up—don't try running—see what Natalia did? Don't do that!"
But, I was only half listening.
At 18-years-old I had just jumped out of a freakin helicopter in the Swiss Alps and survived to tell the tale. Talk about feeling privileged and blessed.
What were my parents going to say? The thought quickly wiped my giddy smile off my face. It was better they were unaware of today's adventure until after the fact.
But to be honest, none of this mattered. When you are skydiving, you are fully present. There is no time to be fearful. You are forced to be in the moment and attentive to life.
Do you know what scarier than rejection?
Scarier than taking risks?
Scarier than failing?
Jumping out of a helicopter.
Not to say everyone has the ability and can or should skydive, but everyone should be in the present and feel alive all. of. the. time. If you survive what scares you most, there's nothing else in the world that will hold you back from reaching your highest potential, and that is more beautiful than an up-close view of the Swiss Alps.
