I charged down the side of the mountain, half running half falling. I’m sure the icy snow beneath my feet crunched under my weight, but I couldn’t hear it over the wind slapping me in the face. Stumbling hard, my legs got caught in the snow and I felt us tip forwards. I didn’t have much time to think about picking my legs up before I was sliding down the slope on my stomach like a penguin. Snow sprayed into my face and I wondered if this was how we’d make it down the rest of the mountain. But the wind took us in its arms, and I felt myself lifted from the snow. Sitting in the sky, I could see the world below my dangling feet. I felt no fear, just weightlessness. I was above the trees, above the peaks, above any demands of gravity. I was so intrigued by the space between me and the ground I had almost forgotten to look at what was at eye-level. I was staring at the tops of mountains: rigid and crested with snow. There was a certain power I felt as we glided through the air. Maybe I should have been more scared, considering I was falling, but I could only smile. We made circles in the air swinging back and forth. With each loop I stared down at the world headfirst and it suddenly occurred to me that I was falling. But what a way to fall: gracefully, slowly, effortlessly.
I’m not afraid of heights and I’m not afraid of falling. More importantly, I’m not afraid to take chances. Falling in real life is never so elegant. Falling makes me think of failing, and that never is appealing. But, with paragliding, we had to fall before we were able to rise again. As we continued to drift towards the ground, I thought to myself, this was a successful fall. Falling and failing happen all the time. The next time I fail, I will remember that I first had to fall in order to soar to greater heights.
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