The tram took me up to one of the higher peaks in the Chamonix ski area.
But it was not winter in France. It was a warm summer day. I was escorted by my guide who carried the chute with him.
He did not speak English. I did not speak France. We each knew a few words of each language. Very few.
On the cliff he spread out the chute over the rocks and untangled the lines that led from the chute to the harness.
He strapped me in it and then himself in it behind me.
There we were. Strapped in and the chute laying on the ground behind us.
At that moment, he shouted out one of the English words he knew. "Run".
Looking behind me and then at the void before me I ran toward the edge of the cliff. As the lip of the cliff got closer I thought about the leap and the fall and the intended air filling the chute lifting us up, higher and higher until we glided and then slowly descended toward the beautiful French town.
It was flawless. It was a moment though as you intentionally throw yourself off a cliff.
Sometimes life is that way though. Intentionally throwing yourself into the risk. You could always play it safe and secure. But that's all you are.then: secure and safe.
But when you enter the void, making the leap of faith, jumping into the unsafe, you change, learn and expect more of yourself. Risk must be part of the journey.
Risk provides the oil for the joints. Yes, a calculated risk. A choice where you are prepared for the jump but a jump never the less.
The leap is part of the ageless experiment.