Off By One

Anyone that partakes in a sport that is outside the norm will have some reason or other for doing what they do. Mostly, their reasons boil down to vague notions of thrill or of challenge; they want to do something that scares them, or that is so insanely difficult that doing it at all elevates you to an elite crowd.

These are, in my opinion, pretty good reasons to do crazy things. They’re not, however, my reasons.

I choose to fly because I get to feel the freedom of letting go of conventional stability — the plane — and having a very personal, nearly spiritual connection to my world. When I am in the air alone, I owe nothing to anybody but myself, and I owe very little even there. All I have to do is pull, and I have satisfied every obligation.

Today, and I write this reluctantly, I jumped for the last time.

The skies were blue, patched with clouds at 7,000’.

The air was fresh, the wind calm.

The temperature was high, but for Brazil, not too bad.

I jumped from a Caravan at 12,000’, making a smooth exit and a laughing, joyous flight through a cloud in the aforementioned cloud layer.

I pulled.

The chute opened.

And I felt something in my shoulder give.

It wasn’t a complete dislocation, but even now when I put on a T-shirt, I feel it nearly slip out when I slide my arm into the sleeve.

I cannot jump if I cannot comfortably and fearlessly carry out the single most important task in the skydive, and I cannot safely pull anymore.

So, jump #38, at 25 minutes and 15 seconds of freefall, my first jump in a country other than Canada, my first jump from a Caravan, and also my last.

Delta(n): A change, eg the difference from one period to the next.

Time: As far as we measure it, five hours different.

Place: Approximately 11,000 km away from where I was 32 hours ago. Specifically, -46.6167, -23.5333

Language: Most people I’ll deal with this week won’t speak English. The people with whom I’ll deal most do. I speak maybe five words of the local language.

Weather: It’s currently 28º, about 35º warmer than it was 32 hours ago

Culture: The hotel powers down all of its outlets when I’m not in the room. Houses in this neighborhood all have wrought-iron fences to protect their parking spaces. The hotel is still all beige, just like hotels in Canada.

I don’t know how significant this is, really. I’ve covered it on my traveling weblog before, but there is something fundamentally dislocating about this kind of distance. I’m at best an indifferent traveler, preferring to be at home where all of my comforts are. It’s made more interesting by the fact that I’m in the middle of no small amount of upheaval on the home front.

For the last few who haven’t heard, we got the house, and will be moving into our very own home on January 23rd. We have, then, four months to prepare it for the arrival of theour baby. Luckily, there’s not a lot that needs doing in a hurry, it’s pretty much ready.

Those of you who read this are probably already aware of my feelings on the subject, but they bear repeating: We don’t plan to become one of those couples with no life other than our child. Our friends are infinitely precious to us, and we’ll be doing our damnedest to ensure that we remember that in the years to come. We’re moving, which makes it harder (as I said in a comment on the last post) but that just means that when I meet Mel for coffee in the morning it’s a bit more of a detour for me