“What the HELL am I doing here?” I focus on the rotors of the helicopter spinning a few feet above my head. Whoop whoop whoop whoop! Korea's green mountains rise up in the distance. Just below the horizon of mountains is...“Don't look down! Concentrate on the rotors.” Above the roar of the helicopter, the icy wind biting my face, the instructor’s voice shouts from behind. "Are you ready?" I nod my head yes, just like we practiced on the ground. Nothing. My head nods again and this time, though I muster the bravest voice possible, it still trembles, "Ye-yes, I'm ready!" Another second passes. An eternity. It’s not my life that flashes before my eyes but the sequence of events that got me to the precarious position between heaven and earth I'm in now:
-The beautiful spring afternoon at the pub when Marty and I decided we’d go sky-diving to celebrate her birthday; two other friends, Brandon and Jemma, would join us.
-The pouring rain that preempted us from diving in June. And July. And September.
-My superstitious attitude that triggered me to almost cancel and refund a fourth attempt.
-The peer pressure from friends me that persuaded me not to.
-How even that very morning the Fates seemed to be working against us.
After a three hour jaunt from Seoul, soothing sunshine, a gentle breeze, and unusually warm temps for late October heralded our arrival at the tiny airfield in Jeollabuk-do. After receiving ten minutes of instructions translated by Jemma, the Korean friend who was jumping with us and who helped organize the trip, we four friends waited on the blue tarp and watched the commotion around the tiny prop plane. Forty-five minutes later the instructor announced we couldn't use the plane. 
“What?!”
"Don't worry! We take helicopter. Not as high, but okay."
Since it was in honor of her by now very belated birthday, Marty naturally went first. No rock, scissors, paper here! We snapped photos and waved as she lifted off in the helicopter. As the dive team strapped the harness on me next and reviewed the instructions, the deep thumping of helicopter rotors drifted over the field. We craned our necks, scanning the great blue expanse, but to no avail; the helicopter was that high. Suddenly a puff of blue burst out into the sky. Marty's parachute! She survived!
After a few quick photos with an ecstatic Marty, I sit gripping the bar in front of me for dear life, the world below out the open helicopter door quickly shrinks and the air temperature plummets.
"Stand up!" the instructor commands. He maneuvers me around so my feet hang out the door while he attaches himself to my harness and pulls the straps tight. "Are you ready?" he yells. Confirmed with a nod of my head, he shimmies me farther and farther out of the door. My hands brace both sides, resisting, but the instructor prevails and then my whole body is dangling outside the craft. Damn legs are too short to stand on the landing skid. The only thing keeping me from falling is the man strapped to my back. Chin up, focusing on the whooping rotors, the icy wind roars but it’s not cold; cold is the last thing on my mind.
"Are you ready?"
"Ye-yes. I'm ready!"
My grip on the shoulder straps tightens and for the first time I acknowledge the ground almost two miles below me. The instructor grabs my forehead and pulls it back up where it's supposed to be. Finally it starts.
The thumping copter fades away. There's no drop of the stomach like on a roller coaster. It's just...falling. Faster, faster, faster. Brown fields rush up to meet us. The roaring wind deafens. Cheeks flap and lungs struggle to breathe. It’s so fast they can't even scream. As if to make up for it one continuous thought goes through my mind: "Ahhhhhh!" A tap on my shoulder signals to raise my arms. They lift without a thought. We plunge onward. “Will this stop?! Oh my god it’s LOUD.” Rapidly gulping the arctic wind I begin to hyperventilate in a panic. “Calm. Down!” Suddenly the sound of a whipping flag in the wind slices through the roar. The view jerks from the brown fields back out to the mountains. Instant calm. Relief. A silent moment of thanks.
"Are you okay?” the instructor exclaims in my ear. “It is fun?"
"Amazing!" My thumb pops up for added emphasis. Five peaceful minutes later friends below wave back. We skid to a landing. Pure. Elation.
