Let’s say you have always dreamed of skydiving. It’s a pretty common desire that’s filled with fear and excitement and adrenaline. You write about it, you dream about, you talk about, and finally one day, you sign up to skydive.
You start prepping. You tell everyone you know that you’re going skydiving and conquering a fear. You proudly exclaim it. This is what you’ve worked for, this is what you’ve dreamed of.
Finally the day comes. You put your suit on, strap on the parachute, load into the plane with a few other brave souls. The plane takes off, ascending into the heavens. It shakes and your hands start to sweat. Your heart starts racing, the higher the plane climbs into the sky, the wobblier your legs become.
“I can’t do this. This is stupid. This is so stupid. What human wants to fling themselves out of a plane to hurtle toward earth for 10,000 feet?!” You think to yourself.
The instructor flings open the door. Your first two companions jump, trusting their parachutes and themselves to make it safe to the ground.
It’s your turn. You take an unsure step toward the door. You peek out at the patchwork of earth below and feel your stomach twist and your donut and coffee start back up.
In a blind moment of courage, you close your eyes and step out of the plane. You trust yourself, you trust your parachute, you trust that the person who trained you did a good job. You just trust…
and you fall.
It's exhilarating. It’s beautiful.
You’re heart and soul and body are all in tune with another and are free. They are in harmony with everything around. You are in harmony with the world.
You make the commitment and it’s so worth it.
That’s what falling in love is like.