First Things First

I recently spent a week in California visiting my sister. We were mainly in Los Angeles, but also several days cruising north on the Pacific Coast Highway, strolling San Francisco, and cruising south on I-5 through the state’s interior. It was my first vacation/trip away from the Northeast in three years, and first solo excursion since a terrible plane ride instilled in me a deathly fear of flying. Turbulence generally sends me into a cold sweat and I find myself praying, which is completely uncharacteristic as I tend to be totally agnostic and apathetic when it comes to religion. I've also been searching for answers, and this quest was the main purpose for the trip.

I turned 25 while out there, and prior to going said, half facetiously, that I wanted to shake things up and live a little; do something crazy to celebrate my arrival at a quarter of a century. I also suggested sky-diving, something I've always had an inkling to do, but also that I shied away from since I find walking off the end of a pool diving board (the low kind; I don't even look at high dives) challenging; and don't get me started on roller coasters. Splash Mountain at eight years old was my first and only, except for Thunder Mountain and Space Mountain at Disney, but I nearly broke my friend's hand on the first, and screamed myself hoarse on the second. Basically, I don't do adrenaline rushes well.

But I also came to a point recently where I realized that my life has stagnated, something I was determined not to allow. I resigned from an extremely physical and outdoorsy job in October (I managed an equine rescue center with forty-plus horses) and spent the first few months freaking out about being a waste of space and non-contributing member of society; then I settled into a routine of four-day weekends and three-day work weeks at a barn. I soon added transcribing interviews for a research project to that, which brings in a paycheck, but doesn't get me out and about and active. I essentially hang out by myself in my apartment every day and have grown quite tired of and grouchy due to this lifestyle.... As I knew I would.

So I got to the point where I would do anything, including getting on a plane, to live a little. I booked the trip and counted down the days, hours, and minutes to my departure. I arrived in California, after a wonderful and turbulence-free flight, brimming with excitement, at the very least to be somewhere different. I guess I'm a visual learner when it comes to reminding myself that, Hey! There are some amazing places in this world - a lot, in fact - and I am too young to be living somewhere long-term without a good reason (i.e. a well-paying job, a family, or college). Simply moving myself to a new location was immediately the first step in refreshing myself and my view on the world.

Then came the biggest adventure I've ever had, and the one that has inspired this whole blog/adventure/life challenge. En route from San Francisco back to Los Angeles, my darling sister surprised me with the news that we were, indeed, going sky diving. She had refrained from telling me, although a good number of friends and family members back east knew, since she knew I would spend the days before freaking out. I'm not sure that she didn't enjoy the car ride to the jump location and my increasing catatonic state more than the actual jump...

We arrived at Skydive Surf City (http://www.santacruz-skydiving.com/) and to my surprise I wasn't actually nervous. It was more of a "You get what you wanted, moron. Now LET'S GO!!" sort of acceptance. And I was excited. The company is run from a shipping container until their hangar is built, which had me initially leery; and I will admit that my high-strung east-coast self momentarily flipped into high gear when the staff appeared as they were around my age and oozed the SoCal surfer-boy image ("Dude!" "Game on!!"). I was reassured later when one jump instructor said he had over 4000 jumps to his credit, and the second 8000; not to mention their attention to detail. They absolutely know what they're doing. After signing our lives away and arranging for pictures and video (which I correctly anticipated would be me screaming. A lot.), we harnessed up and walked to the plane. Bare foot. The beauty of Skydive Surf City is not only the awesome staff, but that you land barefoot on a beach. I had a moment of panic when we saw the plane: I'm 5'4'' and I was taller than half of it. There was room for just us five, pilot included, and we sat backwards (pilot not included). It took us about ten minutes to reach jumping altitude, which was approximately 14,000 feet. My sister went first and while I didn't watch (instead I sat facing away from her covering my eyes), the plane gave a nice lurch when two bodies suddenly exited. There was very little time to think (panic, yes; think, no) as I was dragged backwards by my tandem instructor and then I was sitting outside of a plane, looking down through clouds.

That's when I started screaming.

I'm not sure how much time passed - mere seconds - and then we were falling. It felt as though we were rolling and spinning and tumbling. No, no. That's just what falling straight and achieving terminal velocity (124 mph, or 54 miles per second) feels like.

There were moments of sheer terror, and there were moments of "Oh my God. I just jumped out of a plane." There were moments of completely appreciation at the Santa Cruz coastline below me (or hurtling closer awfully quickly) and then a totally clear: "I don't like turbulence. Why the hell did I think having just a parachute and some straps would make for a smooth ride?" There was no stomach-lurching involved, which may be why I'd go again in a heartbeat, and yet have no desire to try anything other than a Ferris wheel at Six Flags. When the parachute opened (the thought never crossed my mind that it wouldn't; it was only after when we were floating down that I wondered about the sanity of what I'd done), it was simply like hitting resistance and suddenly we were standing instead of lying parallel to the ground.

It is definitely something that, as intended, changes your perspective, literally and figuratively. As we landed on the beach (and thankfully, as the winds changed and we landed unusually hard), I wasn't shaking or freaking out: I simply marveled. I swept my tangled hair away from my face, wiped at my streaming eyes (wind-induced, not terror), and stared around in awe. My sister landed and bounded over to me soon after, glowing with pride that I had done it, and enjoyed it. After a final group picture, we hiked up from the beach and headed back to the tarmac.

It took me a day to process and appreciate what I'd done. At first I thought that I would like to do it again so I could do it better: assume the proper position, jump with my eyes open, and not scream quite so much. My sister quickly told me to knock it off and mull over the magnitude of my jump.

I've spent the last few years growing steadily more comfortable, but as a result I haven't really challenged myself very much. I like to know the rules and boundaries so I know what is safe, and when I should back off lest something bad or scary happen. I rescued a horse last year and after a bad fall, didn't ride her for almost nine months. Part of this was due to her needing extensive training; but my confidence was shaken so that even the most docile of school-horses terrified me. Over time, my confidence grew and I began to enjoy the ride more, but I still had trouble communicating in the necessary manner with my mount. Fear leads in as much as I don't want bad things to happen (fall off, get hurt, hurt the horse, die, etc) and therefore I don't take risks or even assert myself enough (and yes I appreciate the irony of not wanting something to go wrong while not establishing my dominance over a 1100-lb equine). I've had to relearn how to play around with a horse, to enjoy riding and to try new things.

I started taking photography classes at a local art center and stoutly refuse to approach strangers and strike up a conversation and then take their pictures. Part of this is a moral standing; part of it is shyness; part of it is a fear of imposing myself on people; and part is a fear of confrontation. My photo teacher brought me to tears when he implied that I was living my life in fear; and yet it has stuck with me like a vicious splinter and prompted me to sign up for a second class to continue to push myself.

My fears allowed my job to take over my life and stopped me from demanding my rights as an employee. It prevented me from confronting a guy who didn't deserve the intense affection and respect I had for him; and it led to a painful heartbreak. I stopped taking care of myself because I didn't want to impose on other people, either my employers or that guy. Fear diminished my concept of the world and my openness to seeing it. I love to travel, but ff I couldn't get there in a car, there was no way I was going.

Jumping from a plane has changed that. Completely.

I'm back east again, but the memories of the trip and the jump are strong. My sense of adventure is renewed. My passion for living is firing up again. I've gotten back in the saddle with a huge leap in confidence; and while my skills will always need honing, I understand that the very worst thing that can happen is I come off, and that's really not so bad (...after falling 14,000 feet.) My return coincided with my horse's arrival at "Ready for Me to Ride" status, and we've had a great time so far. I may always have a shyness of talking to strangers (Winnie-the-Pooh taught me well) and of taking their pictures, but that's OK. My flight home was super bumpy, but it only bothered me because it was a red eye and I would have preferred to be sleeping soundly than jostling awake every half hour.

It may take me a while to translate and live all the ways in which the jump empowered me, and that's pretty awesome to think that I could feel the effects of one adventure for months to come. The most important lesson I've learned from the skydive thus far, aside from knowing I could do it, has been that I want a life full of adventure. I've been job hunting for a few months and nothing has clicked. When I walked into that shipping container and saw a bunch of dude hanging out and taking tourists up in a plane only to jump from it fifteen-ish minutes later, I realized that that's pretty ballin'. I may never be a skydive instructor, but I love hiking, riding, kayaking, and being outside. I realize that what I want, right now, is a place where I can be outside year-round and not have to deal with snow and ice (snowshoeing is awesome, but I'm not a winter-sports person; and working at a barn in the winter is less than fantastic at times). This place is not currently where I am. So, finally, the reason for this epic post:

I'm about to embark on the next greatest adventure of my life. There are several steps.

1a. Stop transcribing and find a better, more engaging job.
1b. Have a kick-ass last four months. This includes riding my horse and being at the barn a lot; going new places; trying different foods; seeing my friends; adventuring; hiking; camping; rock-climbing; kayaking; just generally diving in and living it up. And hells yeah to another skydive.

2. Peacin' out. I'd like to drive and bike from Pennsylvania to the southwest. I've wanted to road trip across this country for nine years; it's time to make it happen.

3. Find a job in a place that feels right. Not sure what or where yet, but I know my parameters, and I'm open to anything.

The blog is for me to record my experiences first here at home where I try to live like I did in California; and to hold myself accountable to actually getting on and doing this. I'm good at forgetting the big picture as I sink into my old life. But I've got my skydiving pictures and a map of the US posted in my apartment, and I'm determined to see this through. I'm going to use the blog to document the road trip when it begins.

My sister's view on life is that it should be lived with the try-anything, do-anything mentality that people have when they're on vacation. It doesn't mean that you don't work hard or that you live frivolously. In fact, means the opposite. It means that you love what you do; that you find and follow your passions; and that you make the moments count. It means engage and share; but also dare to go it alone. It's taking the road that you want, even (or especially) if it's not easy or normal or characteristic. It means dream big and try it. It means that, in the (paraphrased but) phenomenal words of Kings of Leon, you fuel the fire, stoke it up. You sip the wine and pass the cup. You don't need avenues; you don't need reservoirs. You just have to show the town how to kiss these stars.