leap of faith, part deux

Do any of you know what it's like to jump out of a plane at 13,500 feet - 2 miles above the earth? Neither do I. My skydiving experience last weekend was almost entirely an out-of-body experience. Who can honestly say they skydive with all of their faculties intact?

OK, so really I was scared out of my mind, and, yes, I do remember most of the details. There was the 20 minute tandem jump video that was so haphazardly cut and pasted back together that the bearded skydiver man on the TV never seemed to convey a complete thought. There was the 2 hour wait following the oh-so-brief briefing. There was a near panic as we watched the video of someone who had just finished their first tandem jump.

And then.

It was time.

We suited up in our sexy blue "falling out of aircraft" one-piece outfits-with-limb-handles. We were fitted with hotttt puke-blue helmets (should there exist such a hue). We waited. We made anxious conversation. We met our jump masters. Mine was named Ernie and had made over 9,000 jumps, and yet I couldn't shake the premonition that I would be crashing into the ground at 120 mph in a matter of minutes.

We walked out to a grassy runway, where the tiniest yellow plane you can imagine rolled up to our modest waiting area of about 6 wooden benches. We boarded the plane, strapped ourselves in and climbed into the atmosphere - with the plane's door hanging wide open!! At some point someone handed me a piece of candy. And despite the fact that I knew if I didn't crash into the earth I would die a pitiful death from choking on a mint, I unwrapped it and popped it into my mouth without hestitation. Before I knew it, I was unbuckling, strapping myself to my jump master, and looking out of the doorway, 2 miles above ground and scared out of my mind. It is a truly strange feeling to realize that you don't have a whole lot of say in the matter when you have a moustached man named Ernie strapped to your back. Seconds later, I was hurling myself into an empty space, filled with nothing but the sound of wind all around me.

After that initial holy hell, why did I just jump out of a plane feeling, there wasn't much else to do than look at the cameraman and smile. So I did just that - and, in the end, received some truly nerdy pictures as a result.

As we fell through layers of atmosphere, each warmer than the next (it was about 100 degrees on the ground), I realized that it wasn't so bad. The fact that I was hurtling towards the earth at an alarming rate was so inconceivable that it took the shock of our blessed parachute (canopy, in professional skydiver talk) opening to make me realize that, yes, I did indeed just freefall for about a mile.

Would I do it again? Sure, why not... But I do think that I've met my daredevil quota for the year.

leap of faith

So I jumped out of a plane this weekend, and lived to tell the tale. Details to come, once the pictures are developed...

the hazard of owning an iPod

For whatever reason, I have had trouble getting myself to bed at a decent hour lately. As in, for the past couple of weeks. This being the case, some days I have been going to work with some degree of zombie-like symptoms. Nothing a good dose of Starbucks or extra-strength Excedrin can't cure. Today, after an exceptionally long and arduous day filled with deadlines and last-minute changes and an ensuing fatigue that would not be held at bay with the usual measures, I decided to spend the last couple of work hours in relative quiet, with only the din of my tunes to keep me company - and to prevent me from falling asleep on my keyboard. (Editor's Note: not only does my iPod keep me awake, but it also makes work more enjoyable and tends to help keep others from unnecessarily breaking your rhythm by saying something to the effect of, I can't hear you, talk to someone who cares.)

All was well and good - I was chugging right along, making slow and steady progress in my efforts to complete a program once and for all, when I heard Howie Day's Collide come on. Normally I am not one to allow myself to be outwardly affected by music, particularly in public. It is a very personal part of my life, and I tend to like it that way. Until today, this particular song had never even had any specific meaning to me, but when I heard it this afternoon it immediately directed my thoughts towards A.

You see, we've been broken up since July 4.

I have been surprisingly unaffected by the whole thing. It probably has something to do with the fact that we've done it before, and not so long ago, at that. In a way, however, I also saw it coming, and therefore had ample time to prepare and desensitize myself. Since we last saw each other, I have been busier than ever - going out with friends, traveling, pursuing new hobbies, reading, exercising, laying by the pool, entertaining the idea of a new fellow in my life... I figured it was due to my "being OK" with everything, not a symptom of anything to the contrary. After all, I have been able to refocus my energies toward a new romantic interest - does that not mean that I'm ready to move on?

Apparently not. When approached last week by said fellow, who revealed that he is most certainly interested in pursuing something, I was certainly flattered. After all, I have secretly harbored a major crush on him for approximately a year now. Walking home after that conversation, however, I was in a panic. Aside from some serious baggage on his end, am I really ready to go through this again? As far as I can tell, this is the kind of guy with whom anything less than serious would be an insult to both parties. Fortunately for me, it appears that my busy summer schedule will prevent me from making any rash decisions in the romance department.

Regardless, I am confronted with the more immediate issue of coming to terms with what would have tomorrow been a 5-year relationship. Who can I confide in now? With whom can I share my innermost thoughts and insecurities? Will I ever meet anyone who understands me to the depth that A and I have attained together? If so, will they love me anyway?

The biggest regret I have is not telling him how I felt about him before we parted ways. How I will always feel about him. I have considered calling/emailing/writing, but I doubt he wants to hear from me. And what would be the point, other than to allow ME to unload this emotional anvil from my shoulders? Or could it serve as part of the healing process for us both?

For now, a void has once again been left by the loss of my best friend. Even more sad is that it took Howie Day to make me realize it.