Skydiving Aunty

I sometimes dread the moment people find out that I skydive; worrying they will most likely misinterpret something that feels like a well-worn habit in my life. When that happens, I feel caught between standing my ground and altering myself to fit their expectations.

People tend to project their strong opinions onto my life—and not just about skydiving.

Wow, must be nice to have that much money…

I get this a lot, even though I’ve owned my own gear for the past 12 years and pay $27 a jump. It’s funny because I don’t follow them around on their night out to shame them for spending 2x that amount on drinks and appetizers. I don’t criticize their #CatchFlightsNotFeelings summers when they spend 100x that amount on plane tickets.

Wow, you must be an adrenaline junkie…

I’m not.

Wow, you must be adventurous…

Not particularly

I would never do that…

Okay, that’s nice.

I hate having to explain myself. But I’ve given it some thought and I’ve practiced. When strangers begin picking apart my life, I summon a burst of energy, plaster on a fake smile and say:

…actually, skydiving is not that different from a knitting circle or book club. 

[Blank look]

I enjoy hanging out with the same group of people each week while doing a shared activity. I enjoy catching up on their lives, eating snacks and being outdoors.

[A spark of understanding]

Free fall is such a small part of any given day at the drop zone (DZ).

Oh, so it’s like a third place for you.  

Kind of. 

These are reactions I’ve had from People of Color. White men tend to misinterpret the conversation as ‘she went skydiving one time years ago and is still talking about it.’ That’s usually a cue for them to tell me about the one time they did a tandem and for me to listen politely while they mansplain skydiving—a topic I didn’t bring up and don’t really want to discuss with non-skydivers.

Generally, I don’t talk about it with strangers. I don’t wear skydiving t-shirts or paraphernalia. I’ve removed the United States Parachute Association (USPA) sticker from my car. I no longer proselytize. That feels right.

Recently, I also tried hiding this part of my life from friends and from partners but that didn’t feel right. I missed skydiving and regretted the time I spent away from it. And I resented them for a choice that I made to avoid being misunderstood.

So if I must be perceived by others, I guess I should practice explaining concisely what I love about the sport.  

Skydiving makes me happy; especially the chance to sit in the open door of the aircraft on a warm summer day. Watching the plane fly away on exit also feels nostalgic after so many years on camera step. There’s a reason jump days are labeled ‘Mental Health Day’ in my calendar. These are all things that give me a lot of joy.

Landing barefoot in the grass reminds me of the best parts of childhood. It makes skydiving feel more like ‘play’ and less like a ‘high-risk adventure sport.’

I like sprawling on the packing mat and listening to an acquaintance talk about a new job, or relationship or what they want most out of life. Deep conversations are energizing.

Another favorite activity is making hot tea in the break room and drinking it outside on an Adirondack chair while jumpers land in the grassy field just beyond the fence.

I like chatting with the super extroverts at the drop zone. No I can’t match their energy but it’s always really nice to see them each week.

I also definitely spend more time dancing to someone else’s Spotify playlist than skydiving on any given day at the drop zone.

Sometimes packing is the most relaxing part. I’ve been doing the same steps for 12 years. Sorting lines, quartering my slider, stuffing the nose, rolling the tail…12 years of the same steps—right or wrong, baby!

I think what attracts me to skydiving now is different from what attracted me when I was younger. Then, I did crave excitement and new experiences. Now, I really appreciate the meditative aspects and the calming rituals of our extremely repetitive sport. For what it’s worth, I also like watching embroidery and crocheting TikToks; repetition can be super relaxing.

And of course, it’s still a sport that requires you to be present in the moment, for safety reasons. It’s the one time a week I can stop worrying so much about life and focus on what’s immediately in front of me.

When I was younger, I used to feel restless and a need to chase adrenaline by taking my rig through TSA checkpoints, jumping from hot air balloons and helicopters, and doing RW with strangers. (/s)

Let’s just say I no longer feel restless. I like my routines.

What I get out of skydiving now is different from what I got out of skydiving then. My goals are so much smaller. I occasionally miss Friday nights at the wind tunnel; driving cross-country with strangers to boogies; tent camping at drop zones; sleeping in campers, cabins and bunkhouses; clinking bottles around bonfires; pulling low and landing off in weird places; and laughing about crazy sh*t that happened in the air. The adventures were mostly fun; being exposed to new and creative forms of racism and sexism was not.

But 12 years is a long time. The drop-zone (DZ) kids of 12 years ago are now DZ adults. Some of them have DZ babies of their own. And I am not the same person either.

I’m pretty content jumping at the same place each week. My secret hope is that skydiving organizers will come to me and not the other way round. I have no desire to drive cross country with a stranger. I don’t even want to jump on the weekend when it’s crowded. I have reached my final form: skydiving aunty.

I am a middle-aged woman who happens to skydive instead of woodworking, riding a motorcycle or one shot D&D campaigns. 

(I just assume these are things middle-aged women do; please don’t quote me.)

How to explain any of this to a stranger who is primed to misunderstand? Oh, I don’t. And when my friends unhelpfully announce to random people, “Did you know she skydives?” I glare at them or look at the floor. This is an exhausting conversation to have with someone who has already made up their mind about what skydivers are like: fiscally irresponsible; reckless; adrenaline junkies who don’t live in the real world.

How to explain this to acquaintances or to Hinge dates who ask me about my hobbies or interests? No one wants to listen to me ramble on about mindfulness and third places (except you, captive reader). At least, my friends who have their own weird hobbies, like alpine climbing and surfing rapids, need no explanation. But I’ve started to say the following to everyone else:

No I don’t do it for the adrenaline. I’m a skydiving aunty. I still jump after 12 years because I like snacks, being outdoors and seeing the same faces each week.

End of story.