Ironically, the remedy for my professional malaise was jumping out of a perfectly good plane and free fall plummeting for 30 seconds to the big green rock. When falling from great heights, I was thankful simply that the chute opened and I landed on two feet. My job, my financial situation, my worldly concerns seemed by comparison petty and insignificant.
Truth be told, I liked that feeling. It reminded me of the last three or four miles of a marathon, when I'm focused relentlessly and solely on finishing the run: Everything else seems at the time unimportant. I like being focused completely on one thing: In this case, it was reaching earth without a splat.
From Airborne School, I remembered that the merest hesitation is standing in the door, looking at the clouds and the earth below and wondering--for that split second--at the insanity of it all. My instructor also played a little trick on me; he said we were going to exit on three but we actually went on two. I remember that, and I remember the back flip we did before he deployed the drogue chute to slow us down during free fall.
Free falling was a unparalleled adrenaline rush. The only comparisons from my life I can draw are the feeling of jumping off a 30 foot cliff while skiing in the Dolomites or descending a Cat-5 rapid. Being in a tandem afforded me the luxury of looking around and taking it all in--that is, while I was trying to catch my breath.
After my instructor--Muppet (a self-proclaimed adrenaline junkie and full-time skydiver with more than 5,600 falls)--deployed the main chute, we enjoyed about five minutes of gracefully gliding to the big green rock below. Nothing like feeling terra firma under my feet to provide perspective on my life's situation. Given how many things can go wrong during a skydive, landing successfully made me thankful for my many blessings.
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