For my birthday this year I organized a skydiving adventure for me and my best good friends. I hadn’t blogged about the experience yet because I kept it a secret from my family. This was weird in so many ways.
1) I don’t really keep anything from my family, Mom is pretty much my best friend. So, *that* was hard.
2) I opted to write them a “If you’re reading this unfortunately I died” letter and left it on my kitchen counter. Everyone should go through this literary journey at some point.
3) Deciding to tell them in person by premiering the video over Thanksgiving meant I had no one to call to say, “I survived!” Therefore I spiraled down to a “no one cares that I’m alive” emotion upon landing. It was completely unjustified and redonkulous, but it still kinda sucked.
All in all, selfishly saving the announcement for the shock value was worth it. Blank stares. Curious brows. Muted, then audible, surprise.
My father: “DID YOU JUMP OUT OF A PLAAAAAAAANE?!”
My mother: “Who is filming you? I can’t figure out who is taking your picture?!”
Pance: “Are you mad? Please don’t be mad I didn’t tell you. You would’ve worried way too much.”
My father: “I’d be mad if you died. But. You didn’t. So…. I’m not mad.”
And there you have it, folks. Experience of a death/lifetime. I’d like to say that jumping into thin air from 14,000 feet magically transformed me into a new person. That having a birds eye view of the orange, red and yellow painted Catskills changed my perspective on life. Alas, at the end of the day, I was still me. I wailed like a banshee and shook like a leaf. I kissed the ground, hugged my friends and chugged my beer. And it tasted damn good.