Now this might sound like a slightly melodramatic overexaggeration, but over this past weekend, I faced a crossroads that changed the structure of my entire being and put me on a completely different path.
If you're still reading, I applaud you and ask you to bare with me.
Basically, I had a choice: One option meant that I would stay in Auckland and work on my 1500 word "Singin' in the Rain" paper as well as my upcoming in-class essay on Paul Gauguin.
The other involved a weekend long trip that would put me in mortal danger and annihilate the balance of my checking account.
So the choice was obvious.
And I? I took the road less traveled by and decided to drive down to Lake Taupo on Friday afternoon and put off my papers until...well...right now (and I suppose this blog gives me yet another outlet for procrastination).
So what was this mystery trip? I was going to wake up on Saturday morning and put my pants on one leg at a time. But once my pants were on, I was going to jump out of an airplane at 12,000ft and go sky diving.
Only three weeks after I made up my List, I was ready to cross off #9.
Was I scared? Not at all. But just in case something were to go wrong, I wore my lucky socks, my lucky St. Jude medal, my lucky underwear, and I even wore my white t-shirt with the BBQ stain on it for the sake of good karma.
I suited up (in a jumpsuit that looks like I'm going to knock over a bank with Clive Owen). But before you could say "This ain't no bank robbery," they called my name and I got aquainted with my instructor, Mike. He assured me that he had made over 6,000 successful jumps. I'm not sure if that's supposed to be reassuring, because it just makes it seem like he's due. You can jump as much as you want, but all it takes is one poorly packed parachute and you're fubar-ed.
Despite Mike's failure to get rid of the butterflies, I was ready to fly into the dangerzone.
I'm really glad that I went bungy jumping before sky diving. It's like swinging two bats in the on-deck circle. For bungy, you have to willingly jump off a thin platform, only suspended by a rubber band. With skydiving, you're jumping with a pro and a parachute.
This isn't to say that when we were 12K up in the air and my feet were hanging out of the plane, I wasn't a little apprehensive. The wind started blowing harder and harder as I inched my way out of the plane. Naturally, I looked down and realized that everything looked like ants from this height. In fact, you could see the west and east coasts of NZ on a clear day.
I was the first one in my group to jump, which I also think was beneficial. No added pressure. I just had to shut up and bail out like my Bud Light was on the line. And bail I did.
In the first few seconds, we started spinning upside down multiple times. I thought about screaming, but then I realized that it was impossible to make any noise when you're hurtling towards the ground at high speeds. I opened my mouth but it got filled with cold air that flapped my cheeks like a dog with his head out the car window.
At any other point in my life, I would have closed my eyes and waited for the parachute to deploy. But this time, I got a 360 degree look at the New Zealand country side. When the freefall stopped, I didn't feel relieved: I felt disappointed. It was without a doubt the greatest moment of my life. Truly, a great ride.
Without NZ, I wouldn't have a) the opportunity to do this or b) the guts to willingly propell myself out of an aircraft.
And that has made all the difference.
-MGD
Max Davison is a Junior at Claremont McKenna College. He has a voice so smooth that could make a wolverine purr and he wears suits so fine they make Sinatra look like a hobo. To put it bluntly, he is the balls.
If you're still reading, I applaud you and ask you to bare with me.
Basically, I had a choice: One option meant that I would stay in Auckland and work on my 1500 word "Singin' in the Rain" paper as well as my upcoming in-class essay on Paul Gauguin.
The other involved a weekend long trip that would put me in mortal danger and annihilate the balance of my checking account.
So the choice was obvious.
And I? I took the road less traveled by and decided to drive down to Lake Taupo on Friday afternoon and put off my papers until...well...right now (and I suppose this blog gives me yet another outlet for procrastination).
So what was this mystery trip? I was going to wake up on Saturday morning and put my pants on one leg at a time. But once my pants were on, I was going to jump out of an airplane at 12,000ft and go sky diving.
Only three weeks after I made up my List, I was ready to cross off #9.
Was I scared? Not at all. But just in case something were to go wrong, I wore my lucky socks, my lucky St. Jude medal, my lucky underwear, and I even wore my white t-shirt with the BBQ stain on it for the sake of good karma.
I suited up (in a jumpsuit that looks like I'm going to knock over a bank with Clive Owen). But before you could say "This ain't no bank robbery," they called my name and I got aquainted with my instructor, Mike. He assured me that he had made over 6,000 successful jumps. I'm not sure if that's supposed to be reassuring, because it just makes it seem like he's due. You can jump as much as you want, but all it takes is one poorly packed parachute and you're fubar-ed.
Despite Mike's failure to get rid of the butterflies, I was ready to fly into the dangerzone.
I'm really glad that I went bungy jumping before sky diving. It's like swinging two bats in the on-deck circle. For bungy, you have to willingly jump off a thin platform, only suspended by a rubber band. With skydiving, you're jumping with a pro and a parachute.
This isn't to say that when we were 12K up in the air and my feet were hanging out of the plane, I wasn't a little apprehensive. The wind started blowing harder and harder as I inched my way out of the plane. Naturally, I looked down and realized that everything looked like ants from this height. In fact, you could see the west and east coasts of NZ on a clear day.
I was the first one in my group to jump, which I also think was beneficial. No added pressure. I just had to shut up and bail out like my Bud Light was on the line. And bail I did.
In the first few seconds, we started spinning upside down multiple times. I thought about screaming, but then I realized that it was impossible to make any noise when you're hurtling towards the ground at high speeds. I opened my mouth but it got filled with cold air that flapped my cheeks like a dog with his head out the car window.
At any other point in my life, I would have closed my eyes and waited for the parachute to deploy. But this time, I got a 360 degree look at the New Zealand country side. When the freefall stopped, I didn't feel relieved: I felt disappointed. It was without a doubt the greatest moment of my life. Truly, a great ride.
Without NZ, I wouldn't have a) the opportunity to do this or b) the guts to willingly propell myself out of an aircraft.
And that has made all the difference.
-MGD
Max Davison is a Junior at Claremont McKenna College. He has a voice so smooth that could make a wolverine purr and he wears suits so fine they make Sinatra look like a hobo. To put it bluntly, he is the balls.
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