Sean Musial, Managing Editor

Adrenaline rushes are something that I tend to look for and thrive at doing. Skydiving, after years of wanting to do it, seemed like the next best thing to check off the bucket list. After a couple months of juggling two internships, a summer job and working on personal projects, I knew it was time to jump out of that plane.

A buddy of mine and I had been talking about doing it since we were freshmen in high school. This past summer was the first time we fully pushed towards it. At the end of the long chaotic summer from the Jersey shore, we made one last pitstop at Skydive Cross Keys near Philadelphia on the New Jersey side of the border.

When we arrived, nerves weren’t even on the table; the jump is what I needed and what I was ecstatic for. We went through the training process so everything went accordingly. Then it became time to load onto the plane with the rest of the jumpers: my friend and a couple. I offered to be the first jumper who opened the door on our way out before we jumped.

The small plane rose up into the blue, nearly cloudless sky – if there were too many clouds, the jump would have been canceled and rescheduled. Seeing the ground below turn into a miniature diorama you see in movies told me one thing: “It’s go time.” My instructor, who was strapped to my back and connected to the harnesses stabilizing my body, told me to scoot off the small bunch and towards the door. I grabbed the bottom of the slide up door and brought it upwards until it locked into place. I’m staring down at a 14,000 foot drop I’m seconds away from hurdling myself into. My instructor counts us down, we start to rock our bodies, and then we are sucked out of the plane like a vacuum.

The first 10 seconds of skydiving felt like you were floating across earth’s atmosphere, staring in curiosity at anything that meets the eye – skylines, lakes, roads and clouds you can almost reach out and touch. It’s an almost euphoric sense as the cold air hits your skin and the plummet downwards makes your mind only focus on the moment, especially as you start off with a backflip.

When the momentum catches up to 120 mph, that floating feeling disappears and that cold air pushes against you. I didn’t know whether to cheer or freak out looking at the floor below us. You open your mouth too long, it becomes hard to breathe with all the air sucked up into your lungs. You can feel your skin start to ripple. For me, once I was up there long enough, I just started to cheer and celebrate while making fishtales out of my hands.

When the parachute released, it was like the jolt you experience when driving fast and the brakes get slammed. My instructor asked my opinions on what I thought, and I could only muster the words, “that was awesome.” I was eventually able to guide the parachute for a few minutes before we came to the drop zone. Having that control of where we were gliding next was scary, yet exhilarating because I was able to glide it into the direction of the views I wanted to see next.

We landed and I was finally back on solid ground. I jumped on the grass with my arms and legs spread out, like I was hugging the earth. I’m back on the ground, but wishing I was back in the sky, free falling to the whipping noises of the wind as my background soundtrack.

Until the next adrenaline rush.