Skydiving has been a massive part of my life since 2006. For some years, it was my primary source of income, and for those who believed the fabulous narrative on social media, it defined me as a person. At the moment, I'm in the process of accepting the fact that I will very likely never jump again. To give up something so fundamental to one's personality can lead to a hint of bitterness and a dash of that good old privileged self-pity. Creating a myth for the exact reason behind a hard decision can sometimes be very helpful to make the smashed glass look half full. Here are some of my alternatives:
Finding righteousness
The one thing that has always bothered me concerning skydiving is its environmental impact. Living an ordinary life in western society is far from carbon neutral, but burning enormous amounts of kerosene just to get a thrill and have a jolly good time always required some inner moral aikido. I felt like a Christain who liked the idea of living without sin as I entered the strip joint, flashing my VIP card. I diligently took my backpack to the grocery store to avoid having to buy a plastic bag and then flew to the other side of the world to do 60 skydives in two weeks. I can't live this lie any longer. Therefore, I have decided to quit skydiving and practice what I (sometimes) preach. Climate change is real, and we all need to change our ways. Yes, you there drooling over your stake; it means you too!
What I like about this version is that it not only makes me look good, but it also makes me morally superior. Giving something up and moving on is so much easier if you place yourself in the ivory tower and look down at all those other sinners still drowning in the Flood.
Reaching the top
I've always been ambitious, but I never really been competitive. I've had the drive to train hard to become good at something but very little interest in standing on the podium. I think this is one of the reasons why I have enjoyed being a professional skydiver: it allowed me to do just that. In the beginning, it was, of course, just amazing to jump out of a plane, then it was great to get to jump for free, and eventually to be paid to do the one thing I wanted to do the most. Good times! Especially on those rare occasions when it included limousine rides, speed boats, and dinner with champagne and oysters on secluded beaches.
About a year ago, I achieved my personal goal as a skydiver. I cried when I realized that there were no more worlds to conquer. A legend in the sport that I remember reading about in skydive magazines back in 2006 offered me to come and coach at a luxury resort in the Maldives. I was picked up by a golf car from my bungalow, and after a quick stop at the high-quality buffet, I was dropped off at the DZ. I did some no stress skydives with small groups and beautiful women over the Indian ocean. After landing, I was driven straight to the open bar and swimming pool. Skydiving would just never get any better. Right then and there, I knew nothing could ever beat it. COVID-19 gave a natural pause in my jumping, but I had already made my decision: I would never skydive again.
This myth will take me back to the Maldives and the feeling of reaching a goal and being able to quit while being on the top of my game. Keeping a promise I made to myself several years ago.
Facing the facts
Finally, the one reason that stings the most. Anyone who has observed me closely has probably noticed that I always place myself on elevated grounds to make myself appear taller. And I always turn my right side towards any possible audience. Several years ago, I noticed that my left arm is significantly smaller than my right arm. Still huge, but smaller. It was also weaker, and at times it went numb. Sometimes I had to stretch it out to avoid cramps, but it didn't bother my everyday life or skydiving. Or at least I was able to convince myself that it didn't.
A few weeks ago, I realized that controlling a frying pan with my left hand had become a challenge. When I did a pull-up, I instinctively placed my chin on top of my right hand, with very little weight on my left arm. I finally admitted to myself that something was wrong. After a few doctors appointments, an MRI and electromyography (EMG), the conclusion was that I have multiple herniated disks in my neck, which partly blocks the nerves which are desperately trying to send information through the already narrow nerve channels. Getting my head whipped around should be avoided at all costs, doctors claimed. No more Krav Maga fights with Texonians and definitely no more jumping with PD-canopies.
Based on how much I enjoy using my left arm and my neck, the decision was not very difficult to make, especially when I can find solace from those two first alternatives above when needed. So that is it: my time as a skydiver is over, at least for now. Some doctors tend to be wrong. Others do an excellent job with the knife and scalpel, so who knows, maybe I will have an opportunity to make a comeback one day.
To all my fellow skydivers: I wish you the bluest of skies, soft openings, and smooth landings. Be safe, and please show some kindness to the belly fliers. If we ever meet on a drop-zone again, I will most likely be that drunk guy letting everyone know that I used to be a professional skydiver and loudly explaining how things used to be better back in the good old days. I apologize in advance.
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