When Writing Feels Like Skydiving

I write this a few hours before heading to Whitewright, Texas, to Skydive Dallas for my first tandem jump appointment. Ever since I posted I would jump out of a plane if we collected $5000 worth of prizes by this blog’s 8th birthday, I’ve fretted and regretted my offer. Sometimes publicity forced a person to do stupid things and this was mine.
I blame Peter Shankman. I watched a video of his skydives and listened to him gush about his love of the daredevilish activity. But it was my own stupidity for letting that talk and desire to share prizes with the world to influence my decision. In truth, Peter put up with my rants and supported me throughout this chicken phase. He’s a busy guy with over 11,000 people following him plus he travels often — yet he makes time to push me and responds to my yadda yaddas.
I made the initial appointment on June 20. But bad weather postponed it another week. Two days before the jump, I joined my girl friends for a game of mah jongg. Big mistake.
“Jumping is a big deal!” one said.
“My sister is a daredevil and has tried everything. When she went skydiving, they had to pry her fingers off the plane’s edge and she almost peed in her pants!” said another.
“Why don’t you just go to Planet Pizza (kids’ party place with rides) and jump out of the airplane there? That way you kept your word!” said the first one. This sounds more like deception than comical and I won’t do that when it comes to something tied with my business.
To make it worse, my mother kept reminding me I have three children and should be responsible.
By the end of mah jongg night even after I won the last hand, I decided I couldn’t do this as a pit in my stomach formed and visualizing being in the plane frightened me. But how do I get out of this after telling people I would? I found a way out of this whole mess. One prize sponsor who pushed the prizes over $5000 by June 1 never responded. But it didn’t feel right, either.
Ironically, the biggest supporters come from my own family. My oldest and my husband. Both said they would do it if they could. Oldest isn’t old enough yet and husband (at 6’4″ tall) passes the weight limit. I know hubby would do it as he mentioned it years ago before I ever considered this.
Back ‘n forth. Dilly dallying. Wishy washing.
So how this skydiving mess like writing? It’s exactly how many of us feel when we started freelancing as a writer. Your mind comes up with many similar thoughts…
Can I do this?
Everyone thinks he or she is a writer. What makes me a real one?
Aw, this is crazy. Forget about it. How the heck am I going to stay busy and keep clients coming?
It’s too risky!
What if the client hates my work? Then, I’m done for.
But you have to deal with all the other stuff like marketing, bookkeeping, preparing for the dive…
What if I enjoy it?
Sometimes you just have to do it! The last time I remember freezing out of fear was on top of a mountain at a camp in Colorado when I was about 11. I was strapped and on the edge. I guess it was about 30 feet to the ground. I stood there stiff and gripping the rope not trusting it to hold me. My foot dragged a few inches backward without coming off the mountain’s edge. The other followed. By the time I reached the middle, I pushed gently and eventually glided down like an inexperienced pilot flying a plane.
I did it! I did it! I did it!
It was a breeze the first time I went indoor rock climbing thanks to this experience. Freelance writing — like all things we try for the first time — gets easier with experience. Quoting rates, doing certain types of writing (white paper, web content, case studies, etc.), bookkeeping, providing expertise.
The folks at Skydive Dallas (especially Ernie, my instructor and my glue) were wonderful. They know how to put a gal’s mind at ease. It didn’t help that we had to wait because the winds were too strong. More time to chicken out and fidget. I mostly paced and tried texting in an area where my phone service barely breathed.
It was time. I did what Ernie told me to do and paced more until it was time to head out to the plane. Unexpectedly, my heart beat at normal speed. My stomach growled (lunch time) rather than knotted. I just sat in the small plane and watch the ground grow smaller. Didn’t think about much except wonder when the heck we would reach 2.5 miles high in the sky.
Tired. More about the tale another time. This entry wasn’t meant to tell the whole story.