May 7, 2005, and I awoke to a beautiful, sunny day. I had plans for the evening; my girlfriends and I were gathering for dinner at 2000 hrs., and so I spent the morning lounging about, flipping the channels, and occasionally surfing the web. It was around noon when it hit me: Did I really want to spend my fortieth birthday watching MTV ‘Cribs’?
I’ve posted, months ago, about my impending passing through from one decade to the next. I’ve marveled at how one’s life can change so drastically within a period of only a few years, and how, with perserverence, I was able to extract myself from the chaos that was my adolescence.
My life is peaceful now. I have raised a daughter who has a big heart. She has watched me struggle at two and three jobs for next to nothing in pay, and has developed her own strong work ethic. My mother can no longer control my life, and it is I who have become the provider. My job, although unfulfilling, pays decently, and provides a great deal of personal freedom in choosing my hours. For the first time in my life I can now travel when I’d like., and I can dine out whenever, and wherever I choose.
My life is not glamorous, but it is good.
Except.
Except for the clinging to the control freak that is within me. It is that control that has carried me to where I am. It was my refusal to hand over any element of my life to another that has helped me to build confidence in my ability to survive. And, although I turned the freak within me to controlling, primarily, my life alone, it was my daughter who was often forced to contend when it turned outward. It is this refusal to relinquish any part of my self-control that provided the contrast to what would become the most overwhelming freedom I was to ever feel, just one day after my birthday.
So, as I was saying, it was around noon when I decided to do something memorable with my day, and I decided to do something that would go completely against my grain…I chose to go skydiving.
I checked the web for sites, and after a few phone calls, I had a 1530 appointment in Palatka. I told no one, for I wanted it to be a “me” thing: no shock and awe, no one trying to talk me out of it, nobody making a bid deal. I arrived at the jump site a half hour early only to find that they had permited seven others, without appointments, to go ahead of me, and I would not be able to get up until after 1730. A quick calculation and I knew that and hour and half drive had been wasted because, to go up at 1730 would mean missing my dinner date with the girls. So, a few barbed looks and more than a few choice words later, I was out of there. On my way home, another hour and a half drive, I finally called one of my friends. I was crying when I told her about my plans, and of how they had been ruined. She was stunned and, of course, tried to convince me that just having the guts to show up was stuff enough. I knew better.
Earlier in the day I had tried to contact a jump site in Jax, but had been frustrated to learn that they were out-of-business. So, I tried calling the airport that had once been their home. The fella who answered the phone gave me the number of a Titusville company that would be opening in Jax and said that if I could wait a little while, that they would be a good place to start. He gave me their number and I called to get more info. As luck would have it, and although not really planned ahead, they had decided to fly up to Jax to do some fun jumps and to check out their new location. They told me to come out at 1100 the next day and they’d set me up.
My alarm sounded at 0900 Sunday morning. It had been a late night of crab cakes and margaritas, and I hit the snooze button more than once. At 1015, lying only half alert, I remembered the words, “It was enough to set the appointment.” It was with that thought that I sat straight up in bed.
The hell it was!
At 1100 I pulled to the airport gate and punched the code to get in. I followed an old gravel road around the back of the small airport and then headed across a grassy field to a small trailer. Inside the trailer I was handed a clipboard and asked to sign pages of disclaimers: INHERENTLY DANGEROUS! HIGH RISK! SERIOUS BODILY INJURY! DEATH!! I was astounded to find that although having read the word ‘death’ some dozen or so times, that I signed on the dotted line anyway. As I handed over the forms, and $230 for the jump and a video, I spoke to the pretty lady standing nearby.
Patty is a very attractive woman in her fifties. With long, curly blonde hair pulled into a pony tail, and her makeup done just so, I imagined that she was waiting for someone, perhaps her husband, to complete a jump. “Have you ever done this?” “Yes”, she responded, “495 times”. Patty is the owner of Jacksonville’s, and Titusville’s, Extreme Sports. Twenty years earlier she was dragged, kicking and screaming, by her husband, to take her first jump, and she immediately fell in love with the sport. She has since conceded to knee injuries and thus has taken to the occasional tandem jump, although she misses terribly the freefalls that were once a daily ritual. The videographer was busy, and Patty asked whether I would mind waiting an hour or so to take my jump. I said that I didn’t and we continued our conversation. About fifteen minutes into our chat she reached over and gave me a huge hug, “You’re going to love this, just the way that I did.” I guffawed and walked out into the field to pick a few of the very abundant blackberries that were growing everywhere around the runway. As I waited, others began to arrive, some carrying coolers and lawn chairs, and they set up camp to watch the activities. At around 1200 the videographer came over to ask if I was ready to go.
“Yep!. Ready when you are!”
