WHEN
I WAS ASSIGNED TO WRITE A STORY ON SKYDIVE TECUMSEH, I CALLED GENERAL MANAGER SHAGGIO LEVESQUE TO BOOK AN INTERVIEW. HOWEVER, SHAGGIO’S IDEA OF AN INTERVIEW WAS VASTLY DIFFERENT THAN MY IDEA OF AN INTERVIEW. “I CAN TRY TO TELL YOU ABOUT IT,” HE SAID. “BUT IT’S REALLY ONE OF THOSE THINGS YOU NEED TO EXPERIENCE TO UNDERSTAND.” AND JUST LIKE THAT, I HAD IN MY HANDS THE INTERVIEW OPPORTUNITY OF A LIFETIME. ALL I HAD TO DO WAS SAY YES AND I, ALONG WITH HOMEFRONT PHOTOGRAPHER AND GRAPHIC DESIGNER, NANCI HEINEY, WOULD BE TAKEN INTO THE SKIES TO EXPERIENCE HUMAN FLIGHT.
I DID NOT WANT TO DO THIS. My fear of heights borders on the edge of white hot terror. Even as a kid there was a low and uncomfortable grumble of fear within me when I crossed a bridge or if someone pushed me too high on a swing. This fear was a manageable grumble until several years ago when my husband and I were on a cross country flight that experienced grave difficulties. From what I understand we encountered a wind shear as we came in to land. There was a harrowing tip of the plane and a sudden and forceful thrust back into the sky as the pilot aborted the landing. Severe weather then diverted our flight, and we aborted landings at two additional airports. This incident lasted for nearly two hours before we were finally able to land in an airport four hours from our destination. Upon landing, I begged my husband to rent a car and drive us home so I wouldn’t have to get back on the plane. The majority of people on that flight ended up at the car rental counter. It was that bad. The experience was chaos. At times, people were screaming. The woman in the seat next to me just cried and held photos of her children. In those hours, the once manageable fear sank in his ugly and monstrous claws and declared that he now owned me. I was his.
I cannot be more clear. I did not want to go skydiving. Yet what nagged at me was that I also didn’t want to be someone who was too afraid to go skydiving. I didn’t seek this out. It sought me. Not taking this opportunity seemed like such a concession to the monster, like I was finally and nakedly admitting that I was his. So in a moment of defiance, I booked our jump for five days later. I decided that I would simply keep it gray in my mind. I’d just push it aside as some hypothetical thing that was going to happen someday. This worked until the night before. I couldn’t sleep. In the morning, I couldn’t eat. The fear was spreading like a sickness throughout my entire body.
T
hat morning, Nanci and I drove together to Skydive Tecumseh. We decided to talk about anything that wasn’t skydiving. I needed distraction. I was so grateful that she was there. As soon as we arrived, we were met by a staff that was simply full of joy. I was introduced to my jump buddy, Dom Baez. This was the man who was to be strapped to my back to take me safely through this adventure. He fitted me with a harness, taught me how to lean back into him during the free fall. He made me laugh. I was
Flight
HUMAN EXPERIENCING
then handed over to Jeromy Alexander, the videographer who would be jumping next to us and recording my dive. He recorded a preflight interview, and, he too, made me laugh. These people were just simply happy. Their joy made the fear so manageable. There were moments when I felt like I was simply hanging out with friends. I started having fun. Then the plane arrived, and we filed two by two into its belly. I had been so focused on the fear of skydiving that it wasn’t until I climbed into the plane that I remembered just how afraid I was of flying. As we ascended, my fear began to morph into actual physical panic and pain. I was trying to hide it and look happy, but I was trembling and trying not to cry. Nanci reached over and held my hand for a moment. Then Dom leaned into my ear and told me to close my eyes. He told me that we were going to take two deep breaths together. I felt each exhale evaporate just the edges of the panic. Then it was time. I was to go first. The door was slid open. There was so much wind, so much noise, there were so many reasons not to jump. I knew that all I had to do was turn to Dom and say, “No, I can’t do this,” and I could stay in my seat and be free of this thing. But at STORY BY SARA HILTON PHOTOS BY SKYDIVE TECUMSEH’S JEROMY ALEXANDER & KAREN AGUILAR
AT SKYDIVE TECUMSEH
that moment, I didn’t want to say no. I knew there was actually no freedom in backing out. While I had never before jumped out of a plane, I knew this moment. I had been here many times in my life. I was either going to step off or stay comfortable. Be brave or be full of fear. Jump or sit back down. No one was forcing me. This was my moment to choose. So I stood up. I walked forward. I stepped out and put my feet on the running board outside of the plane, the toes of my shoes hovering two miles above the earth below. Dom laid my head back onto him as we had practiced, and he asked me if I was ready. I answered yes. And with that one yes to the fear-filled unknown below, we jumped.
F
or me, freefalling at 120 miles per hour was a complete absence of thought. My mind is often a chaotic place of thinking and analyzing and creating and worrying and fretting and evaluation. But the freefall was an all-consuming sensory overload. There was no space for anything other than the fall. It was a moment, simply for the moment itself. My mind was quiet. When the parachute opened and the descent slowed, I quickly returned to thought. I quickly returned to fear. Our descent to the ground became much like the responsive readings from church — fears answered by assurances. Over and over I repeated, “Is the parachute working? Are we okay? I’m so scared.” Over and over Dom responded, “Everything is working. We are safe. I’m going get you to the ground safely, I promise.” At one point, he took my hands and gave me straps to hold. “This will make you feel safer,” he said. It was pure kindness. I sometimes forget how powerful simple kindness can be. I found out later that each person on our flight had a different experience, created just for them. Some twirled around in their parachute, some had the chance to steer. Our jump buddies had read each one of us, understood our tolerance for this adventure and adjusted to fit what we wanted and needed. For me, this was about taking on my monster, and he was a powerful and ugly beast. I didn’t need a twirl. I needed assurance to keep the monster at bay. That is exactly what I got. Human Flight continued...
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