I have always wanted to jump out of a plane. 

Bungee jumping terrifies me. The ocean terrifies me. Snakes…I won’t even go there. But jumping out of a plane at 10,000 ft always sounded like fun to me. 

So in July of 2009 I did just that. I jumped out of a plane. I’m sorry, I went skydiving, for some reason skydiving sounds less suicidal than saying I jumped out of a plane. 

My aunt Mary Kay was visiting and she mentioned to my dad that she had always wanted to go skydiving, and couldn’t think of a better place to see from a birds-eye view than the Flathead Valley. I would agree, but I think New Zealand would be pretty awesome. That Saturday morning, my brothers, my dad, my aunt, and I loaded into vehicles and headed out to Lost Prairie to go skydiving. 

I remember the morning vividly, by 8:30am it was already well on its way to being a very hot day, and we had nothing but clear blue skies for miles and miles. The drive to Lost Prairie is a beautiful one filled with forests, hills, hidden valleys and fields that are tucked away only to be seen by those who look for them. My brother Mark and I bumped along in our family’s ’87 Nissan truck looking at the sky and speaking very little. Neither of us had ever done this before, whereas my dad and Chris both had, and we were nervous.  

Lost Prairie is about a 45 minute drive from our home in Kalispell and the closer we got to our destination, the more nervous and nauseous I got. I kept thinking about how I was supposed to speak at John Paul II Parish that evening to help raise funds for my upcoming year with Reach. Would I live to be there? I actively tried to not think about the fact that I could die. That would get me no where. So I worried away the time by looking at the scenery, taking in every thing I saw, I didn’t want to take anything for granted. You know, just in case I didn’t see any of it again. I stared at my brother’s face, his square-jaw and fresh shave, his hazel-green eyes and his nose. His nose that looks just like mine. We all have the same nose. Don’t worry I wasn’t driving. I know you were concerned. I also know that if my brother actually reads this he will be mortified to know that I put this out there for the world. I also know that my mom may tear up. Sorry mom. 

By the time we pulled up to the Osprey Parachute Club. My nerves were pretty frayed. We signed the waivers, watched the video and paid the man. Then we decided our jump order. Mark and I first, then Mary Kay, then dad and Chris. We put on our jumpsuits (seriously), met our trained jump partners (that’s a nice name for the person you would be harnessed to for the next hour) and we loaded into the plane. Once we got in the plane and it took off, the nerves eased up, I mean we’d already paid and were off the ground. I’ll spare you the awkward details of having to sit on a stranger’s lap for a 45min plane ride, with your older brother sitting across from you, but this little description should jump-start your imagination. As we circled higher and higher I became very calm. By the time we were opening the door of the plane and I was standing on the wheel outside, I had accepted the fact that I could die, but if this view was the last thing I saw then that was totally fine by me. 

We jumped. Correction, we back flipped out of the plane. Which to be honest is a little disorienting. Then we were in free fall for 30 seconds. About 10 seconds after we jumped my brother and his partner jumped. And I could hear him yell, “Yeah! Ahahahahaha! Woooooo!” 

I am not a woo girl. It’s not a thing I do, even jumping out of planes, I don’t yell. Not on roller coasters or anything. I’d rather take it all in with a giant smile on my face than scream my appreciation. If you want to see me yell, you should have seen me at my brothers’ soccer games. 

30 seconds of free fall and then 15 minutes of a parachute aided float back to earth. I saw the entire valley I called home spread out before me, but in a way I’d never seen it before. Seeing something from 10,000 – 30,000 feet is so vastly different than seeing some from 5,000 feet while you gently drift back to earth. It was exhilarating, breathtaking, and awe-inspiring. I would do it again in a heart beat. 

I recently finished applying to Boston College’s School of Theology and Ministry for a summer graduate studies program. When I say recently, I mean I legitimately pushed submit on the application about two days ago. The month or so it took me of staring at the same questions over and over and finally writing my personal statement was a long month of worry, nerves and nausea. What if I get in? I will be gone for 5 weeks for the next three summers. I will miss out on our justice outreach project, volunteering at camp, witnessing good friends getting married, but in the long run I will gain so much more. So why was I nervous? I am taking an unknown step, granted it’s one that I wanted to take, one that I am excited for, but it is a risk nonetheless. I am stepping out of my comfort zone, hoping that soon I will be standing on the wheel of the airplane, staring at the new endless opportunities ahead of me. The minute I hit “Submit” the nerves and worry went away. It’s out of my hands. 

I am in my 30 second free fall, who knows if the chute will open? I guess I’ll find out in 29, 28, 27…