For years, I’ve kept a bucket list — a collection of experiences that I hope to check off before it’s “too late.” Some of the items are fairly inconsequential . . . mastering a Rubik's Cube like the 6th grader I met at a recent NHL hockey game. His fingers were a blur as he spun that block like a boss in less than a minute. One handed.
Other entries on my bucket list are more significant (and potentially life-altering) undertakings. I checked one of these items off years ago when I finally worked up the courage to skydive for the first time. This was no chaperoned tandem event. It was just me, standing alone on the narrow jump platform of the Cessna 206, white knuckled as I hung on and listened for the jump master’s commands over the roar of the engine. There I was, ready to jump out of a perfectly good airplane. With the thumbs-up signal from the jump master, I took a deep breath to steady my adrenaline-soaked nerves, and then let go. It was the scariest, riskiest, most exhilarating thing I had ever done. I was hooked, so I booked another jump, then another. With each subsequent jump, my confidence increased as my fears subsided (although not entirely, what fun would that be?). I achieved a dream by letting go.