Jumping Out of My Comfort Zone

I find it hard to write today as my internals are in a bit of a turmoil. A few months back, when I knew my son would be coming for a month, I thought it would be fun to take him skydiving. He is an adventurous person, and I thought this might be a great way of providing him with some fun and me with a challenge I have always wanted to do. At 79, it is one of the few things on my bucket list I have not accomplished. I have been on safari, fairly close to lions and other wild animals — both of us on foot and both of us eyeing each other – and I have been in war zones and under attack. So, I figured why not skydive? Great idea.

Did I mention I am afraid of heights?!

I am a believer in pushing beyond our comfort zones. This is how we learn to trust ourselves on ever deepening levels. This is how we just know. I mentioned to Luther that I was not sure I would jump, and his reply was, "You always can stop. You do not have to jump." My reaction to this startled me. He didn't try to push me but gave me space to discover my own limits and boundaries. It made me think about this question of how we set boundaries for ourselves and how we learn to do so. 

So often, boundaries are external. We expect parents, teachers and other authority figures to set boundaries for us. We learn to comply, to do as we are told, and to listen and not rebel. What happens when this does not happen and we have to set our internal boundaries? So often in a young person's life, one of the first decisions they make on their own, is whether to have sex. Unfortunately, this decision is usually done under the exceptional influence of biological drives for reproduction and little reasoning or consideration of possible future consequences. 

Luther and I spoke of the foolish actions taken in youth. He told me a story of a young woman he dated. They went to a bar and ordered drinks. Before Luther could react, she was pouring the drinks all over herself. Luther stopped her and asked what she was doing. The drinks were meant for them to each enjoy, and she was putting it on herself. Her reply was that she "wanted to have fun." He asked her what this meant and if she had thought about consequences. They were in a bar filled with men who would very likely take her actions as an invitation for other, more intimate relations with her. It would then mean he would have to come to her rescue and clean up her mess. She had come with him, and he felt a certain responsibility on his part for how she behaved. This led to a discussion of boundaries. It was fascinating to see that if had she been at the bar alone, and had behaved in this manner, he would most likely not have interfered so quickly. However, when her behaviour impinged on his own standards, he placed boundaries and stuck to them.

He was raised in this manner. His father is a gentle man who raised his children to make their own decisions and accept the consequences of their actions. He made suggestions as to what was appropriate behaviour, but if they chose not to follow, then that was their choice. If it was not a good choice, he discussed it with them and explained why, but it was their life, their choice. The young lady at the bar, most likely expected Luther to play the part of a hero and rescue her from the situation in which she had placed herself. Interestingly enough, if something happened she did not want, she could blame him, the men, and anybody else in the vicinity. It is not a popular position to accept responsibility for the situations in which we place ourselves. I can easily remember times when I performed actions that were particularly "stupid" or rather unthinking of consequences. As we age, we mercifully learn from experience and begin to think of how our current actions will affect our future.

So there I was, thinking about whether I was once again trying to make an external person responsible for my internal decisions. Parachute jumping was facing my fears. It was wanting to let go and have fun — it was wanting to soar, to fly. It was something that, if I backed out of it, I knew I would be extremely angry at myself. It was something I had dreamed of doing since I was a child, and that day I believed I would do it. Fortunately, I would not be responsible for pulling the rope, but I would do it in tandem.

Isn't this the best way to face our lives? We make our decisions for ourselves, but are able to depend upon the support of others.

So here I am the morning after – the jump accomplished and amazed at the experience. It was the jump, yes, but it was more than that. It was the people I met along the way, including the man who I just met and in whom I placed complete trust to bring me out alive. Ah, I hear, you say that he is trained to do so, and AHHH, I say, thank god he is! 

We had a long wait, for unexpected delays. The plane was a small one that barely fit five of us. We sat on the floor — I was securely nestled against the chest of a man I had met only two hours before, Sean My Own Personal Hero. The plane made lots of noise, and I could not hear anything. Next to me, Luther was securely strapped in. The size of this plane, only one propeller, made the adventure more exciting, as it had no air conditioning nor insulation from the outside world. There was a door that rolled up and was made of glass — so everywhere I was treated to a view of a receding world — and recede it did! If ever this current reality took on a sense of illusion — it was then. The ground moved away, and as I looked down, it began to look like a painted scene on canvas. The interesting thing for me was the realisation of just how high we flew. We travelled higher and higher, and the ground moved away and we rose above the clouds. This actually made it easier to jump. 

Jump is the wrong word: we rolled. I was the first to jump. Not only that, with Sean My Own Personal Hero attached behind me, I was the first out of the plane. I swung my legs over the edge of the plane, dangling for a brief moment and looking down below. I felt Sean roll back and forth and, as I moved back and then forward, we rolled out of the plane and into free fall —-yep, 13,000 feet above ground, and we were free falling at about 120 miles per hour. The videos are hysterical when I later watched, my skin flapping and rippling in the wind and moving in ways I never thought possible. And all too soon, it was over. I thought at first I would shut my eyes and pray to get through it. But I breathed and followed my breath and I looked, I gazed in amazement at — whether it was an illusion or not — the most incredible creation. What did I think? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I felt, I moved, I breathed in —- grateful for being given the chance to experience this. And when the parachute opened — grateful to feel, experience, breathe the silence and be enveloped by it.

This is not my usual post of reflecting on children and the world in which we find ourselves. This experience prompted me to consciously reflect on decisions we make when we are young and the changes in those boundaries and choices as we age. This was an experience that had me seriously contemplating death as the ground moved away from me, as I soared upward in a plane not much larger than my SUV and as I willingly let go, rolled out over the edge and into….. into nothingness. And allowing myself to feel, to breathe, to relax into it and to embrace this experience rather than fight it — to embrace it with gratitude and awe… and yes, with love. Love brought about by being with some amazing people for a few short hours where we exchanged stories and brought to each other a sense of being — a sense of being together in a way that was intimately connected as we all faced fears and connected into a Oneness of Being —— Being ALIVE.