“Tell the pilot to drive safely, he has very precious cargo.”
That’s what my mom says to me every time I get on an airplane. Usually though, I’m not trying to jump out of said aircraft.
Tomorrow, my friends, is the day I will finally “jump out of a perfectly good airplane.” This precious cargo is ready for the Big Drop.
A lot of people have asked “why the hell are you doing this?” I have a pretty simple explanation for it. Basically, I got dumped, cried about it for approximately three months (o.k. possibly longer, possibly currently crying), and then decided to throw myself off of something. Fortunately, I wanted a parachute attached to my back.
The timeline breakdown of this ingenious plan goes as follows:
March: Decide I want to skydive because I’m sick and tired of being sad and I’m slightly (highly) emotional. Call cousin Sam, who will pretty much do anything that seems crazy to normal individuals. Sam says “yes” (obviously), but asks to wait until the summer, as she needs to save some dough. Immediately call Mom to tell her my evil plan, she says “no” and then concedes “if you still want to go in July, you can go.” Done and done.
April: Announce to my family on Easter that Sam and I plan to skydive sometime this summer. Since it’s a holiday and everyone’s a few deep, they all agree that this is a wonderful idea. Ray D., R.J., Nicole, and Uncle Ray sign up. I talk to my dad. He says “if you do it, I’ll do it.” With these additions to our clan, I officially cannot back out unless they do. (Word of Advice: if you have any kind of breakdown in the Turnbull family, they are supportive of whatever you want to do to make yourself feel better. This can be highly dangerous. Who in their right mind would hear me, in my emotional state, say “I want to jump out of an airplane,” and go “Yes. This is exactly what you need. GREAT idea.” WHO DOES THAT?? I think I could have said I wanted to sell myself into sex slavery and they would have been like, “Awesome. Yes. I was going to suggest that.”)
May: At Uncle Ray’s tiki bar I recruit three more jumpers. We have since lost them. By the end of the month we are seven strong and I call to officially make the reservations. Have a slight panic attack after hanging up the phone.
June: Amanda Turnbull and Uncle Dan want to join. Uncle Dan later tells me he’s torn a muscle in his knee. I don’t believe one word of it.
July: Completely stop sleeping because every time I nod off I get a falling sensation. Watch YouTube videos to try and psych myself up, but only scare myself further. Make pictures that look like this.
I really can’t believe what I’m about to do, and if you know me even a little bit, you probably can’t either. But I can tell you this, my life has been pretty rough and tumble the past few months (scratch that, the past few years) and I think I need something like this to shake myself back to reality. To boot, I think I need to do something scary, and come out on the other end in one piece. This is not my personality. I am cautious. I abide by the rules. I have three daily planners for crying out loud! But, I need to know that I can choose to take risks, and have them actually work out. And hey, if things don’t go my way tomorrow, quite frankly, I won’t know the difference!
So here. we. go. Tomorrow is “D” Day. And I know I’m being silly. I really do think that what we are about to do is safe, and everyone will be fine. But, I do want to leave with just these parting words: To everyone I’ve ever loved, I meant it. To everyone who’s ever shared my life, I’m grateful. And to all you mother f-er’s crazy enough to do this with me, I’ll see you on the ground.