Mind you, my short stature and genetics (?) have combined to create a vortex of height phobia. I hate ladders, my knees wobble whenever I'm close to a railing, and I was always the one on the ground handing my dad christmas lights, while trying to not let him hear my voice quiver just watching him climb onto the roof.
I also hate that girl. She's fussy. She's a whiner. She is not fun enough.
So I have stifled her my entire life. Gritted my teeth and looked over the edge of the Statue of Liberty's crown, force myself to jump off of rocks, decided to hold tree pose at the top of everything I hike or climb no matter the terrain. Well kids, I think I may have gotten over it this time. I completely buy into the idea of chasing your fears, and this one was immensely rewarding. I mentioned it to Tim and Crista the first night I arrived in Hawaii, kind of giving myself the option to cop out. But as the spectacular week went on, I knew that I had to top it al off with a gigantic leap of faith.
Crista and I got all harnessed up, climbed into the plane, and it took off. I was totally fine, already feeling like a badass. But then, one of the dive masters opened the door, and leaned out, pointing to something I didn't dare move my head to look at. Oh boy. My dive master pries my fingers from the handle on the side of the plane and shoves me at the door.
"Look," he yelled, "I don't get to go skydiving again...... until tomorrow. So quit the silly and let's have a really fun jump!" and then he shoved me out of the plane.
The first five seconds were sheer terror. No words.
The rest of the ride was unbelievable bliss.
You have to try it. Cowabunga, dude.
Love Love Love.
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