I don’t even know where to start. I jumped out of a plane today, you guys. On purpose. And I’m not suicidal.

I can’t wrap my head around this.

It all started with this and Number 34 happens to be To Go Skydiving. Which should be loosely translated to “On a list of things to do before I die, let’s try NOT to die just for fun.”

It was sensational. Well, back up. It went really fast – I was expecting to sit on the ledge of the plane while we counted down to letting go, but instead the instructor strapped on my back had to pry my hands off the plane and then free fall backwards. At that point I wasn’t even focusing on being scared or nervous or feeling anything other than cold. It was 17 degrees at 10,000 feet in the air and snowing.

Then as we’re free falling I’m thinking to myself how awesome it would be if I could take a damn breath of air and STOP FREAKING OUT ABOUT 140MPH WINDS RUSHING UP MY THROAT AND CHOKING ME. It was super fantastic.

And it really was. Super and Fantastic. Once the parashoot was let out and we were gliding down I could breathe again and all I could do was stare at the beautiful ground below me while snow was coming at me and complete peace was surrounding me. I felt like Wendy floating above a wintery London with Peter Pan.

And I would do it again in a heart beat.

(We went with some friends and you can see Stacey’s account of the day here check it out!!)