“Dear Mom, I’m going to drop out of school, move to New Zealand, pursue a career in skydiving and some other obscure extreme sport.”

Not really (even if I was thinking it).

I’m not going to hype up this experience more than it was and say it’s the best thing that I’ve ever done, or that in the 60 seconds that I dropped I had a revelation that changed my life forever.

No. Sorry. I’ll admit, skydiving does have a sort of air of romanticism, but not like that. I think it’s more of a mysticism.

Let me clarify…the first night I spent with my roommate Alex, she ranted about New York for a solid thirty minutes. I’ve never been to New York but I sat and I listened. Her voice was etched in passion and longing and I could see the memories replay over in her head, her eyes lighting up like the New York lights she grew up surrounded by. Then she said something incredibly profound, something that I know I’ll carry with me forever.

“New York made me humble. I grew up in the heart of Manhattan and each day I looked out my window and for each window, I saw there was another person’s life. It reminded me of the big picture—how small and irrelevant we all are.”

Though all I saw was the Louisiana landscape, skydiving itself reminded me of Alex’s point. As I fell, I was remembered how very small and vulnerable we are. For a moment, I felt untouchable. I floated. I flew. Then reality struck me across my face like a cliché soap opera. I realized without the parachute, I would actually fall and die. For the entirety of that 60 seconds, my life relied on a backpack filled with nylon and my instructor, Cameron, someone I had only known for less than an hour.

I laugh at this because as kids, we’re told hypothetically not to jump off of bridges with our friends.

I’m legally an adult, I literally jumped out of a plane...with someone I didn’t even know.

After I did it, people were shocked. Thy told me they could never do it. I don’t believe that. Anyone can do it if they’re willing. I didn’t think it was going to happen. I thought it was just another fantasy that wouldn’t happen, but it did. On a whim. I looked over to Courtney, my roommate about a week before her birthday (our birthdays are about a ten days apart), and said, “What if we went skydiving? I’ve always wanted to go.” She replied, “sure,” we booked it, and went together. She was afraid of heights, but now she’s less afraid. She, like myself, said it changed her perspective and reminded her how small we all are. I think I can speak for both of us and say we were floored. Then again, we both expect our twenties to floor us. It will. We’re out of our teens and there’s a whole new set of expectations we have to encounter as “adults.” We’re not ready. But isn’t that what defines our 20s?

Here’s to two decades of life. Here’s to the big 2-0. Wish us luck.