Flying or falling?

Almost two years ago, my friend Seth came and spent a week with me in Rio.  It was only a few months before I was planning on leaving Rio and moving back to the US.  I took advantage of Seth’s presence to have a few of the adventures I’d been meaning to accomplish, but kept putting off for a better time.  One of those adventures was hang-gliding.  Hang gliding in Rio is pretty different from the few other places I’d seen hang-gliding done.  Instead of relying on thermals to give you a long flight, the hang-gliders of Rio rely on launch height and air resistance.

The morning I went, we spent some time getting a basic flight lesson down on the beach.  We then drove fifteen minutes up the mountainside of the Tijuca National Forest until we reached the launch platform, which rested 1,700 feet plus above sea-level.  As I put on my harness and helmet, the instructor gave me a few pieces of advice as we went over the procedure for our flight.

“First of all,” he said, “See that ramp over there that ends abruptly over a 500 foot drop?  That’s our take-off point.  We will strap in to the glider, and run off the edge as fast as we can.”

“As fast as we can?”

“As fast as we can,” he reiterated.  “If we don’t run fast enough, we won’t have enough speed, and we’ll fall. Like an aerodynamic rock. It will hurt.”

That was pretty good incentive for me.  After a few practice runs on solid earth, he deemed me ready for flight.  We strapped ourselves in, waited our turn in line, and I tried to still the butterflies that jostled to be released from the confines of my stomach.

“Oh, and one more thing,” the instructor casually stated as we were next in line.  “Whatever you do, DON’T jump!”

“What?”

“When we run off the ramp,” he explained, “Your body will want to jump off the edge.  It’s only natural when faced with a 500 foot vertical drop.  But I’m going to need you to NOT jump.  Just run as fast as you can, and when you reach the edge of the ramp, keep running and allow your weight to pull you forward and down.  It’ll be ok.  Trust me.  But you need to remember not to jump, even when every instinct in you tells you that you have to.”

This isn’t what you want to hear moments before you fling yourself off a cliff, no matter what you’re strapped to.

And suddenly, it was our turn.  Adrenaline raced, my legs got jittery, and my mouth was dry as I enjoyed that delicious balance of nervousness and anticipation of doing something incredibly fun: feeling 100% alive.  I glanced over at the instructor, grinned up at him, nodded once, and then focused my eyes straight ahead of me.  All I could see was the 20 feet of wooden platform built out over what felt like a bottomless abyss, even though I could clearly see the crisp ocean, creamy beaches, the high rises, the jungle, and the jagged rocks far below.  I breathed deeply, and listened for my cue.

“GO GO GO!!!” he yelled, and I began to run.  I sprinted – ran as fast as I could – hit the edge with my right foot, my left foot flailed and spun for a fraction of a second, and then we dropped.  I felt my gut begin to twist, my body screaming to my brain “You said we would be flying.  But we’re not.  We’re FALLING!!!”  10, 20, 30 feet down, speed increasing, and me wondering why we aren’t zooming around like the birds do.  I would like to say we dropped like a stone, but in reality, we were a little more aerodynamic than a stone.  After dropping about 50 feet, the wing caught the wind, the instructor leaned into it, and we began to climb.

Just like that, anxiety was gone, replaced with pure exhilaration as we banked, soared, climbed and dipped over the cityscape, the ocean, and the strip of sand that divided them.  A dive or two, a couple spins, and above all the quiet and peace that enveloped me as we floated high above the world.  For 15 minutes we laughed and played and my heart danced.  We finally pulled in for a landing on the beach, and as we gently touched down (pretty near perfectly, I might add), I realized that the grin that was plastered to my face had left me with a sore face.  It was incredible.  We spent the rest of the afternoon watching friends and strangers fly above us, come in for landings, commenting, laughing, and soaking up the joy of being alive.

However, it was easy to look back and forget that one little part – those few seconds at the beginning, when adrenaline and fear and terror tried to overwhelm me and stop me from running off the side of that cliff.  And even when I gathered my heart and jumped, those first few seconds sure did not feel like flying.  They felt like I was falling.

And as I think about it now, I wonder…  Maybe now, when I feel like I am in a state of free-fall, plummeting through the atmosphere from altitude, arms and legs thrashing in the wind like a rag doll, this is not the end of the story?  Maybe now, when I feel unmoored and uncertain, when I see the ground rushing up before my eyes, when my plans aren’t making quite as much sense as I’d hoped, it’s just because I’m still a child, and to me, falling and flying still seem very much alike?

May we all find the courage to continue to jump with abandon into the arms of the One who has called us to fly, and who has promised to give us wings…

8 Comments

  1. hey ben,
    catching up a bit on your blog. i love this entry. a special encouragement to me today. will definitely be sharing with kirk. it was great seeing you last weekend. we love you!

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