On the of seventh of May, Twenty-Eighteen---I fell fourteen thousand feet from the sky.

I wasn’t dreaming; or even asleep, for that matter. I was wide awake. Falling from the sky wasn’t forced upon me. Nobody made me do it; a gun wasn’t pointed at my head. & Yet, there I was… in what some would call a predicament. Led by a dangerous and silly decision that they, themselves, would never make.

“Why? Why fall 14,000 feet from the sky, willingly? I would never..” echoed numerous times.

“YOU’RE WILD AS FUCK”

“I know.” I replied.

“Don’t die.” was commented pretty damn often as well. “I’ll do my best.” was an appropriate response, I thought.

If you hear the same (or similar) sentiments from multiple people saying that you shouldn’t do something, consideration should probably be taken to what’s being said, right? Minimal, at least. Weeks leading up to the fall, multiple people had definitely advised me against it. Those multiple people were squared as the days grew shorter. Did I consider what they were saying? Sure. Was I aware of the risk being taken? Of course. Was I nervous? As a motherfucker, I was.

I was also unbothered, unconcerned, and my decision had already been made.

Turning 30 felt like a milestone. I HAD to do it big. Do something that I would never forget. Something that accurately reflected the monumental moment that was coming; inevitably, and with or without my permission. I usually take a trip for my birthday (6 years straight), but my travel plans were compromised and ultimately ended up falling through. After a little bit of plotting, planning, and considerable thought, I decided to jump out of a plane for my 30th birthday.

I did something that people are, often times, scared to do. I’m not gonna lie.. I was a little nervous. A lot of nervous. I couldn’t help but to think of every possible outcome & way that jumping out of a plane could play out for me. What if the plane malfunctions? What if the parachute malfunctions? What if the joker that I was strapped to malfunctions? (joker pictured below---real cool guy) Being a free thinker comes with a cost (see: overthinking), and I wasn’t exempt from paying, especially not in regards to my life.

On the seventh of May, Twenty-Eighteen---I fell fourteen thousand feet from the sky. Willingly. Thoughtfully. In full consciousness of the decision that I made. I had gotten myself as close to God and as deep into the Universe as I had ever been before. I closed my eyes, said a prayer, and jumped.

With no control over the speed in which I was falling, the direction the wind was blowing, or the gotdamn parachute even(!)... gravity took over and I was in the backseat of a tiny ass airplane. I couldn’t call shotgun because Joker had already done so, respectfully. I relinquished all control, and submitted myself to a moment of life or death.

The craziest part of it all---my reset button coincidentally appeared… not too soon before [or after] the fall. I’ve always been a dreamer, so naturally I can’t help but wonder… if all it took to find the [reset] button was to put my head back in the clouds. Literally. As scary (as fuck) jumping 14,000 thousand feet from a plane was; I would do it again in a heartbeat. Ask anyone who has fell from the sky before & they’ll say the same. If you’re reading this and you’ve thought about jumping—do it. Do that shit. Stop thinking about it and go do it. We can go together. The joker will probably be there, too. We can make a day out of it.

Falling from the sky was one of the better decisions I’ve made in my eleven thousand, one hundred and sixty-eight days here on Earth.

JUMP.