Jumps
I close my eyes and think about how it feels just before you jump.
My heart skips a beat because I feel the feeling exactly how it is in the moment and immediately after you do it.
Holding your breath is involved.
“Jump from the top”
“I can’t”
I say this knowing full well that in a few, I will do just that. I will jump from the top.
I know I usually need a few minutes for my mind to warm up to the idea. (Hey, in no way does this apply to consent. You always have to get consent.)
I know that I will love every minute of the experience. I just need some time to adjust and get comfortable in my skin.
I swim for a bit. It’s always scary getting in the middle of the ocean. Even if I’m a fairly good swimmer, a lot of nerves are involved. What if this is the day I forget how to float? I’m always glad it wasn’t that day.
I push myself further away from the edge. Further away from anything grabbable. I start taking shallow breaths then I remind myself to relax. After a few minutes, I’m having so much fun! I’m playful, I get a bit more courageous, I lean into my adventurous side and sooner than later, I am ready to jump.
I started going up. I encourage myself that I can change my mind at any point. That even if I get on top and decide I don’t want to do it, I will just enjoy the view, come back down, and continue on. Deep down, I know that I will jump. Do I though? Maybe it’s something I usually convince myself I knew after I’ve successfully done it.
On top, I pause. It’s now time for all the breaths. All of them. Deep ones, shallow ones, loud ones, panic ones, affirmation ones, excitement ones, deliberating ones… all of them. Breathwork breathwork breathwork.
I can feel myself getting ready. I am ready. I know I will be so happy. I can already feel the post-happiness. It’s time.
I chuckle nervously. Do a loud laugh. Hysterical in a lot of ways. Countdown.
I jump.
Everything slows down.
Get Linn Kandia’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
I hold my breath.
I’m doing it.
I’m doing it.
I’m doing it.
I’m under the water.
Fully swallowed in the darkness.
It’s not cold. I’d even say that it is fairly warm.
I remind myself, you’ll be out in no time.
I have to remind myself every time.
Every time.
For some seconds there.
It’s full of nothing.
The true meaning of nothingness.
I am at the center of nothingness.
Fully engulfed.
Fully immersed.
Fully consumed.
Soon, my head emerges above the water.
I can’t begin to describe just how exciting it’s all been.
I start laughing and screaming and high-fiving the air and water.
I feel exhilarated and accomplished in a way that brings me total surrender to flow. Because, if I did that, I am definitely okay floating and surrendering all burdens and tensions.
Soon, I’m going up again. This time with a smile and full excitement. I will do this a couple more times just to savor it all.
Before starting this post, I closed my eyes and thought of how it feels just before jumping and just after stepping off the edge.
It feels like that a lot of times in life. The feeling can only be compared to feeling scared to your bones. Jumping can be scary.
Sometimes, jumping is everything you need to remind you just how easy it should be to surrender to flow. Just how easy floating can be.
When I jump, I am reminded just how everythingness can feel.
When I float, I am reminded of just how much nothingness is important.
Both, are just as critical.
I take a deep breath and I close this chapter.
My palms sweat as I type this because I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
This is how immediate inspiration and execution feel like.
When you freeze in moments and can’t seem to remember how to move,
Remember how it feels when you take the jump. The moments before it, the moments when, and the moments after. Remember that freeing feeling that lingers long after the jump occurred.
