The story I always tell people when they ask me to tell them something about myself is an odd one, but I think it gives a pretty great example of who I am as a person, or who I once was and who I am trying not to be.
It all started in kindergarten. I was a quiet kid who liked to blow bubbles when the teacher wasn’t looking. When he was looking, I was never the kid who was blowing those bubbles, it was someone else and they needed to cut it out because I was trying to learn. But that’s not even the good part.
The good part is when I told another lie to get out of the trouble I caused for myself. The last person in line to exit the classroom was always reminded that their job was to close the door as they left. Naturally, I tried not to be that person. I didn’t want to be the first person in line, either, because the responsibility of being that lead duckling was too much for me. The middle of the line, somewhere closer to the back, was exactly where I liked to be.
I basically had the entire thing down to a science. Not the kind of science that tells you how to find the average velocity of an object when acceleration is constant, but the kind of science that says, “Whenever you do this, your heart beats really fast, so don’t do this anymore.” It was juvenile science, but it was still science to me, and it worked. My science worked until I was too polite, or until I let every single person go in front of me, which only happened once.
It all started in kindergarten. I was a quiet kid who liked to blow bubbles when the teacher wasn’t looking. When he was looking, I was never the kid who was blowing those bubbles, it was someone else and they needed to cut it out because I was trying to learn. But that’s not even the good part.
The good part is when I told another lie to get out of the trouble I caused for myself. The last person in line to exit the classroom was always reminded that their job was to close the door as they left. Naturally, I tried not to be that person. I didn’t want to be the first person in line, either, because the responsibility of being that lead duckling was too much for me. The middle of the line, somewhere closer to the back, was exactly where I liked to be.
I basically had the entire thing down to a science. Not the kind of science that tells you how to find the average velocity of an object when acceleration is constant, but the kind of science that says, “Whenever you do this, your heart beats really fast, so don’t do this anymore.” It was juvenile science, but it was still science to me, and it worked. My science worked until I was too polite, or until I let every single person go in front of me, which only happened once.
Because my passivity overpowered my avoidance, I was at the back of the line one time and it was my turn to shut the door. I would have been shaming all of the brave kindergartners that had come before me if I failed to fulfill my duty. So I approached the door, grabbed it, and completely lacked enough muscle for the job. I couldn’t move the door. It was as if all of my avoidance of the task was trying to come back at me with an incredibly stubborn vengeance, so I cried. Everyone in the class was getting farther away and I was struggling to shut a door. I couldn’t just abandon my post, because then I would be in trouble for neglecting my responsibility. When my teacher realized that I was left behind, he asked me what was wrong. I told him someone hit me.
It was him, that boy right there.
He hit me and it hurts a lot, and that is why I’m crying.
At the time, I wasn’t sure why I said that or where it even came from. I just didn’t want to get in trouble for keeping the door open and for falling out of line with the other ducklings. It’s most likely that the idea of being in trouble scared me so much that I was willing to do anything to escape that feeling, instead of facing it and working through it.
Another story that I always tell is one that doesn’t involve any lying, but does describe another time in my life that I refused to face something that frightened me. At the mall with my mother on the second floor, I held onto her hand more tightly than she grasped mine. Mainly because I had to or I would get lost and wobble over, but also because we had to go down the escalator and I had tiny legs that needed a little extra support.
When we got closer to the escalator, I thought that because my mother had a free hand, I would be safe to hold it. I never considered the fact that my mom could fall just as easily as I could, because she was a superhero and nothing could defeat her. Not even the monster of an escalator could take her down. She knew that wasn't true, though, which made her let go of my hand when she stepped onto the escalator, and that wasn’t alright with me.
I stepped back like the escalator was fire and I was a snowman constructed of the most freshly-fallen and delicate snow, and I would melt if I dared to even go near it. My mom wasn’t exactly melting as she went down the escalator, but she was not happy that I was refusing to go down.
I can still feel my tiny body shaking as I'm being passive-aggressively told to go down the escalator. I can feel one of my feet touching the escalator and then immediately retracting at least ten times, each time making me more upset. I can see the man who, clearly understanding the situation, decided to dodge me and go down the escalator as if a small, motherless child wasn't just crying in front of him.
When a woman, for whom I have a deep sense of admiration and appreciation towards, decided to help me, I had to decide if I was more afraid of walking with a stranger or of walking down the escalator alone. Luckily for me, she was very nice.
This woman, who had probably just been shopping and wanting to go downstairs to resume that activity, stopped with me and most likely asked my mother if she could help me before she actually did it.
I can't feel my tiny body shaking anymore, and I can't feel the relief from reuniting with my mother. All I can feel is warmth towards one of the kindest strangers I've ever happened to run into, and I don't even know her name or what she looks like. If I wasn't so afraid of her at the time, I might be able to remember her now.
I used to believe my anxiousness came on suddenly, like it was a twister and I was Dorothy, and Kansas was who I was before the storm hit, but I was never Dorothy. I was always a nervous person and I was always avoiding those feelings whenever it was possible. I wasn't even the Cowardly Lion, because even he eventually found courage.
The idea of being afraid of heights never consciously registered with me, either, until I realized that feeling uneasy on the second story of a mall or needing complete concentration to step on an escalator wasn’t exactly considered normal, and it wasn’t until I was a sophomore that I recognized this, because I was always avoiding my feelings. Even after I realized this, I refused to face my anxiousness around people and I refused to face my fear of heights.
Eventually, after being left out of things and being unable to do simple things, like going out to eat or simply going into a grocery store, my anger at the situation overcame my anxiousness, and I wanted to change. I wanted to return home to Kansas with all that I had learned and never tell anyone about it. I wanted the experience to change me and to help me grow into the person I knew I could be.
In order to change, I decided to face my fears directly. I wasn’t angry enough to walk into public and greet everyone and tell them about myself as a way of becoming more comfortable. I knew my anxiety was as heavy as the door I couldn’t close in kindergarten, but heights were as light as stepping onto an escalator.
The only reasonable way to overcome a fear of heights is clearly to jump out of an airplane, so I did it.
But not before preparing myself.
Even though I grew up in Florida and always found myself wanting to be in the ocean, the idea of being suspended in water without any protection from what’s underneath is something that makes me feel extremely uneasy, even as I sit here safely above sea level. However, because I was on a rampage, I decided that I didn’t need to only tackle heights, but I needed to target as many fears as possible. Parasailing was one approach.
The trouble with parasailing wasn’t only that I would need to be in the ocean, but I would be released into the air like bait for anything that wanted me. Whether that was a bird, a plane, or Superman. Anything could have happened to create a parasailing accident, which is a phrase I totally never googled.
If I had googled it, I would have found a few videos of parasailing gone poorly, in which case the participants would fall into the ocean, straps and all, and be surrounded by whatever lurked below. Then they would have to be rescued and hope that the life-jackets were functioning optimally.
Standing on the beach with my functional life-jacket, I could see other people parasailing and I was hoping that they were having fun. I also wanted them to take so long that the sun would go down or it would start storming and there would be no more parasailing allowed. Then when they were done, I was thinking about how soon it would be before I was the one up in the air. Then I was thinking about how wet the banana boat seat was and how I had just taken a shower for no reason. Then stepping onto the boat, I thought about how hard it was to maintain my balance, and how the two captains were probably used to seeing people nearly fall over all the time. Then I was strapped in and released into the air.
It was him, that boy right there.
He hit me and it hurts a lot, and that is why I’m crying.
At the time, I wasn’t sure why I said that or where it even came from. I just didn’t want to get in trouble for keeping the door open and for falling out of line with the other ducklings. It’s most likely that the idea of being in trouble scared me so much that I was willing to do anything to escape that feeling, instead of facing it and working through it.
Another story that I always tell is one that doesn’t involve any lying, but does describe another time in my life that I refused to face something that frightened me. At the mall with my mother on the second floor, I held onto her hand more tightly than she grasped mine. Mainly because I had to or I would get lost and wobble over, but also because we had to go down the escalator and I had tiny legs that needed a little extra support.
When we got closer to the escalator, I thought that because my mother had a free hand, I would be safe to hold it. I never considered the fact that my mom could fall just as easily as I could, because she was a superhero and nothing could defeat her. Not even the monster of an escalator could take her down. She knew that wasn't true, though, which made her let go of my hand when she stepped onto the escalator, and that wasn’t alright with me.
I stepped back like the escalator was fire and I was a snowman constructed of the most freshly-fallen and delicate snow, and I would melt if I dared to even go near it. My mom wasn’t exactly melting as she went down the escalator, but she was not happy that I was refusing to go down.
I can still feel my tiny body shaking as I'm being passive-aggressively told to go down the escalator. I can feel one of my feet touching the escalator and then immediately retracting at least ten times, each time making me more upset. I can see the man who, clearly understanding the situation, decided to dodge me and go down the escalator as if a small, motherless child wasn't just crying in front of him.
When a woman, for whom I have a deep sense of admiration and appreciation towards, decided to help me, I had to decide if I was more afraid of walking with a stranger or of walking down the escalator alone. Luckily for me, she was very nice.
This woman, who had probably just been shopping and wanting to go downstairs to resume that activity, stopped with me and most likely asked my mother if she could help me before she actually did it.
I can't feel my tiny body shaking anymore, and I can't feel the relief from reuniting with my mother. All I can feel is warmth towards one of the kindest strangers I've ever happened to run into, and I don't even know her name or what she looks like. If I wasn't so afraid of her at the time, I might be able to remember her now.
I used to believe my anxiousness came on suddenly, like it was a twister and I was Dorothy, and Kansas was who I was before the storm hit, but I was never Dorothy. I was always a nervous person and I was always avoiding those feelings whenever it was possible. I wasn't even the Cowardly Lion, because even he eventually found courage.
The idea of being afraid of heights never consciously registered with me, either, until I realized that feeling uneasy on the second story of a mall or needing complete concentration to step on an escalator wasn’t exactly considered normal, and it wasn’t until I was a sophomore that I recognized this, because I was always avoiding my feelings. Even after I realized this, I refused to face my anxiousness around people and I refused to face my fear of heights.
Eventually, after being left out of things and being unable to do simple things, like going out to eat or simply going into a grocery store, my anger at the situation overcame my anxiousness, and I wanted to change. I wanted to return home to Kansas with all that I had learned and never tell anyone about it. I wanted the experience to change me and to help me grow into the person I knew I could be.
In order to change, I decided to face my fears directly. I wasn’t angry enough to walk into public and greet everyone and tell them about myself as a way of becoming more comfortable. I knew my anxiety was as heavy as the door I couldn’t close in kindergarten, but heights were as light as stepping onto an escalator.
The only reasonable way to overcome a fear of heights is clearly to jump out of an airplane, so I did it.
But not before preparing myself.
Even though I grew up in Florida and always found myself wanting to be in the ocean, the idea of being suspended in water without any protection from what’s underneath is something that makes me feel extremely uneasy, even as I sit here safely above sea level. However, because I was on a rampage, I decided that I didn’t need to only tackle heights, but I needed to target as many fears as possible. Parasailing was one approach.
The trouble with parasailing wasn’t only that I would need to be in the ocean, but I would be released into the air like bait for anything that wanted me. Whether that was a bird, a plane, or Superman. Anything could have happened to create a parasailing accident, which is a phrase I totally never googled.
If I had googled it, I would have found a few videos of parasailing gone poorly, in which case the participants would fall into the ocean, straps and all, and be surrounded by whatever lurked below. Then they would have to be rescued and hope that the life-jackets were functioning optimally.
Standing on the beach with my functional life-jacket, I could see other people parasailing and I was hoping that they were having fun. I also wanted them to take so long that the sun would go down or it would start storming and there would be no more parasailing allowed. Then when they were done, I was thinking about how soon it would be before I was the one up in the air. Then I was thinking about how wet the banana boat seat was and how I had just taken a shower for no reason. Then stepping onto the boat, I thought about how hard it was to maintain my balance, and how the two captains were probably used to seeing people nearly fall over all the time. Then I was strapped in and released into the air.
It was more serene than I thought it would be. I didn’t feel like my head was out the car window and bugs were flying into my mouth. I felt like I was floating on a cloud, or sailing down the smoothest waters in the sea. Then we started falling.
It was acceptable that the water was a little cold, and it was acceptable that I was very tightly strapped into a harness, but it wasn’t acceptable that I was lowered down into the water while actively parasailing. I thought I was going to be the star of the next parasailing accident video, and I didn’t even look good that day.
The captains needed to find entertainment somewhere, and they did that by dropping people down into the water and then pulling them back up. I didn’t know that.
It was acceptable that the water was a little cold, and it was acceptable that I was very tightly strapped into a harness, but it wasn’t acceptable that I was lowered down into the water while actively parasailing. I thought I was going to be the star of the next parasailing accident video, and I didn’t even look good that day.
The captains needed to find entertainment somewhere, and they did that by dropping people down into the water and then pulling them back up. I didn’t know that.
After I landed back on the boat, I was asked how it went. I said, “It was ok.”
I truly do pride myself on being polite. I will smile at you if you look at me, I will be very careful with both my tone and facial expression, and if I am writing you an email instead of seeing you in person, I will write four pages of delicately worded sentences, just so you don't feel like I'm being impersonal and only speaking to you for a favor.
When I said “It was ok,” I was accidentally saying “The job you just performed was average. I didn’t have fun, but thanks for trying.”
I couldn't take it back, because the captain responded with, “Just ok?” I had hurt his feelings, I think, but it really was just ok. I wasn't excited or scared, I was just in the air, so it was ok, and I didn't look heights too deeply in the eyes.
My next idea required me to be of legal age, which I wasn't at the time. I wanted to go skydiving. I wanted every ounce of fear to stay in the airplane whenever I jumped out of it, and I never wanted to see it again. Until I was able to do that, though, I needed to do something else.
There is this place that I've heard about ever since I moved here. My mother used to try to point out to me why it's called Grandfather Mountain, but I could never see the face of the alleged elderly man in the side of the mountain, and I never really wanted to. My relatives would visit the park and show me pictures and explain to me how much fun the bridge was and how sometimes the wind prevented anyone from crossing it because of safety reasons, but I never had any desire to be so high up in the air, because it's easier to fall up there. It would be similar to being on the second floor of a shopping mall and looking down only to feel a little lightheaded, except it would be more extreme on a mountain, and that's why I had to do it before I went skydiving.
It's incredible to me that with all of the thinking I do, I failed to think about how you actually get on top of the mountain. That is like saying you are going to live in New York one day with three kids, a spouse, and two cats, but never making plans to actually reach that. I wasn't having kids, getting married, or adopting animals, I was going up a mountain, literally and metaphorically.
I wanted to do these stressful things with people that made me feel comfortable and safe. My mother was always around, but so was her friend, and her friend was never afraid to take risks. She liked to tell me to walk just a little farther towards the side of the mountain, or to take the rockier path instead of the smoother one, and I'm grateful that she did.
I truly do pride myself on being polite. I will smile at you if you look at me, I will be very careful with both my tone and facial expression, and if I am writing you an email instead of seeing you in person, I will write four pages of delicately worded sentences, just so you don't feel like I'm being impersonal and only speaking to you for a favor.
When I said “It was ok,” I was accidentally saying “The job you just performed was average. I didn’t have fun, but thanks for trying.”
I couldn't take it back, because the captain responded with, “Just ok?” I had hurt his feelings, I think, but it really was just ok. I wasn't excited or scared, I was just in the air, so it was ok, and I didn't look heights too deeply in the eyes.
My next idea required me to be of legal age, which I wasn't at the time. I wanted to go skydiving. I wanted every ounce of fear to stay in the airplane whenever I jumped out of it, and I never wanted to see it again. Until I was able to do that, though, I needed to do something else.
There is this place that I've heard about ever since I moved here. My mother used to try to point out to me why it's called Grandfather Mountain, but I could never see the face of the alleged elderly man in the side of the mountain, and I never really wanted to. My relatives would visit the park and show me pictures and explain to me how much fun the bridge was and how sometimes the wind prevented anyone from crossing it because of safety reasons, but I never had any desire to be so high up in the air, because it's easier to fall up there. It would be similar to being on the second floor of a shopping mall and looking down only to feel a little lightheaded, except it would be more extreme on a mountain, and that's why I had to do it before I went skydiving.
It's incredible to me that with all of the thinking I do, I failed to think about how you actually get on top of the mountain. That is like saying you are going to live in New York one day with three kids, a spouse, and two cats, but never making plans to actually reach that. I wasn't having kids, getting married, or adopting animals, I was going up a mountain, literally and metaphorically.
I wanted to do these stressful things with people that made me feel comfortable and safe. My mother was always around, but so was her friend, and her friend was never afraid to take risks. She liked to tell me to walk just a little farther towards the side of the mountain, or to take the rockier path instead of the smoother one, and I'm grateful that she did.
After I got over the fact that I was standing on a bridge whose tallest point was a mile high, I loved what I saw. For once, I felt like I could see the world, but the world couldn't see me, and it was incredible. Then someone found a large bolt beside of the bridge and I wanted to get out of there.
After I turned 18, I knew I could go skydiving, but that pesky avoidance thing got in the way for a couple of months. Around Christmas, my grandma brought up skydiving and how happy she would be to fund my trip.
The place she picked was almost three hours away, which meant I had plenty of time to overthink the situation, but I kept my cool, probably because I had so much support. I think I was so shocked that I couldn't feel nervous.
When we got there, I had to sign forms and agree not to sue anybody if I died in an accident, no big deal. Then we were told that the weather was preventing the pilots from being able to see, so all jumps were postponed until the clouds cleared up. I was there, facing my fears, and being told that the world was not wanting me to do that. Some people left, but others, like myself, waited with hopes of being able to skydive that day.
It was January first. The first day of a brand new year. A day where people make a big change and then sometimes stick with it. I knew it didn't really mean anything, but I wanted to make a big change on that big day, and eventually I was able to.
After a little while of waiting, we were told that we would finally be able to jump. That meant I'd be a new person on that brand new day, and I'd be jumping out of an airplane. I had never even been on an airplane before.
Something that I have learned through all of this is that I am apparently extremely skilled at hiding how nervous I am. The first time someone said this to me I thought, "Maybe I just wasn't as nervous that time they saw me." The next time someone said it to me I thought, "How couldn't they see my hands shaking? What about my voice? And did they see that I wobbled when I walked?" Then I thought maybe it only felt that extreme to me, and to everyone else I looked normal. Then I thought about how everyone around me could be as nervous as I was and just as talented at hiding it.
When we got there, I had to sign forms and agree not to sue anybody if I died in an accident, no big deal. Then we were told that the weather was preventing the pilots from being able to see, so all jumps were postponed until the clouds cleared up. I was there, facing my fears, and being told that the world was not wanting me to do that. Some people left, but others, like myself, waited with hopes of being able to skydive that day.
It was January first. The first day of a brand new year. A day where people make a big change and then sometimes stick with it. I knew it didn't really mean anything, but I wanted to make a big change on that big day, and eventually I was able to.
After a little while of waiting, we were told that we would finally be able to jump. That meant I'd be a new person on that brand new day, and I'd be jumping out of an airplane. I had never even been on an airplane before.
Something that I have learned through all of this is that I am apparently extremely skilled at hiding how nervous I am. The first time someone said this to me I thought, "Maybe I just wasn't as nervous that time they saw me." The next time someone said it to me I thought, "How couldn't they see my hands shaking? What about my voice? And did they see that I wobbled when I walked?" Then I thought maybe it only felt that extreme to me, and to everyone else I looked normal. Then I thought about how everyone around me could be as nervous as I was and just as talented at hiding it.
When it was finally time to board the plane, the man I was going to be strapped to was running a little behind everyone else. That was fine with me, because I thought that would mean I could avoid the airplane for a little while longer. However, that actually meant I would be the last person into the plane, and the first person out of it.
Once we were all packed into the plane, I began to wonder if I suffered from another disorder: claustrophobia.
When the doors opened and the men in front of me started leaping from this plane, I was not thinking about anything except for the fact that I was involuntarily moving closer to the door. It wasn't like I froze up mentally and still remained physically intact, it was actually that I was not moving my body, but someone else was moving it for me. I did not have to do anything. It didn't feel like it was my choice anymore. I was about to die and I willingly signed up for it.
I met a man before the jump who told me to really take the time to feel that moment of flight with skydiving. He also told me that people always stare at the ground, but that I shouldn't focus on that. The thing about that was that I really wanted to look at the ground as I was falling. I wanted to know what I could see and I wanted to see it all. But I wasn't supposed to look at it, so it was eyes up for me.
After the big event, everyone asked me what it was like. I didn't want another "It was ok" incident, so I told everyone that it was fun.
It was so much fun.
Of course I would do it again.
I really think you should do it sometime.
But how I felt was a little different than what I told everyone. Once I got in the car, I told my parents that I had been lying to everyone about how much fun I had. I told them that it was just ok. Then my grandmother called and I said, "It was so fun, thank you so much for letting me do this," and my parents laughed at me.
Then we went to a restaurant to eat, and the first thing my mother said to the waitress was, "Ask her what she just did," and she pointed to me. I made a face at my mother and then I quickly corrected myself and smiled at the waitress, and then I told her how much fun I had skydiving.
It could have been that I had been interacting with people all day and I needed a break, or it could have been that I was expecting something completely different, but at the time, I thought it was just ok.
There was an option to make another appointment for $80.00 less than the original price, but I didn't even think about doing it ever again. I didn't exactly feel the moment in the air that I was supposed to feel. I didn't feel an adrenaline rush that people supposedly feel. I felt like I had just had one of those dreams that make you question whether something actually happened or not.
I was told that if you smile while you are falling from a plane, your cheeks will jiggle less than if you do not smile. In every photo taken of me while I was skydiving, I am smiling. I've noticed that I smile a lot, sometimes too much, but I never mean to. I truly do not know if I was happy to be falling from an airplane, or if I was trying to lessen the bouncing of my cheeks.
Now that it has been over three months since I have done this, I feel differently about it. When I am asked how it felt to go skydiving, I still say it was fun, but now I mean it. I don't know what has changed in me. Maybe this adventure has led me to make different decisions, and those decisions have led me to become a different person who feels differently about things such as skydiving, but whatever has changed in me has made me want to go on a new adventure.