Skydiving Was a Mirror I Didn’t Expect

Not Everything That Falls Breaks

The Leap

Rest, break, relax— all three are good. And what they give us is good too.
But when you’ve grown up with the habit of always doing, always thinking, even rest feels unfamiliar. Almost like guilt. Like maybe you should be doing more.

I’ve been feeling that lately.
Even when I slow down, my mind keeps moving. I try to fill the space with plans, tasks, noise. But something still feels missing.

In that haze, I remembered one moment.
The clearest, stillest moment of my life: skydiving.

It’s funny—when I was in the sky, falling from 16,000 feet, I felt more grounded than I do now.
There were no thoughts, no fears, no questions. Just the wind. The view. The breath.
It felt like nature was holding me, and I didn’t need to do anything.

Right now, I have so many thoughts. So many feelings. And yet, I feel empty.
That day, I had nothing on my mind—and I felt full.

I live in my head a lot. I think too much. I reflect, I plan, I write.
But that day, I didn’t need any of it. I was not writing a blog in my mind. I wasn’t chasing a dream. I wasn’t proving anything.

I was just alive.

No past.
No future.
No thoughts.
No feelings.

Just breath. And life.

How it started – Taking the Decision

It was a Wednesday morning, around 10 am.
I’m someone who likes to get ready in the morning in “outdoor clothes” and step out—do something productive.
It could be the library, temple, park, café, university... doesn’t matter. I just need to step out.

So I’m sitting at the railway station, scrolling through Instagram, occasionally looking up to check how long till the train to North Sydney arrives. I was heading to the ISKCON temple.

Then I saw a story from Sydney Uni—about a book fair happening on the uni lawns, along with some other stalls.

The book lover in me lit up.
New plan: take the train to Newtown, go to uni, buy some books, and then catch a direct bus to the temple from City Road.

But nature always has its own plans.
We just walk into them thinking they’re ours.

There was no book fair. Nothing.
But then, a beautiful lady called out to me from behind a desk. The stall read “Skydive Australia.”

“Do you wanna do this?” she asked.

“Is it safe? Is it scary?” I asked—obviously.

She smiled and said, “Yes, it’s scary. But it’ll take you to the other side of fear.”

That line stayed with me.

I asked her the price and told her to swipe my card before I changed my mind.
I booked a slot for next Tuesday—to give myself some time to mentally prepare.

But again, God is the one who makes the plans.
And still, He lets us live in the illusion that we do.

I got a call on Friday from the company. The weather wasn’t looking good for Tuesday.
They asked if I could come on Saturday instead.
I said yes.

Two processes in making a decision

When we make a difficult decision, there are usually two parts to it.

First: telling the world what we’ve decided.
Second: accepting it ourselves.

For me, the second one is always tougher.

Neuroscientists say that our brains haven't fully caught up with the modern world. They're still wired like we're living in the Savannas—always on alert, always thinking something might attack. So, the moment we take a step into uncertainty, the brain screams: DANGER! Even if it’s not a lion but just... jumping out of a plane.

So after I agreed to prepone the jump to Saturday, my brain began its little circus of what ifs.

What if the parachute doesn’t open?

What if I land in the ocean—I don’t even know how to swim!

And then, like a true 2025 human trying to calm his Savanna brain, I Googled:
“How many people die while skydiving every year?”

Turns out,

Skydiving fatalities are very rare. Around 0.006 deaths per 1,000 jumps in the US. That’s about 20–30 deaths globally per year. Thanks to better gear and training, it’s way safer than it used to be.

So I told myself—If death chooses today, it was going to happen anyway. If not, then I’ve got a date with the sky.

Lessssgoooo Jeet!

Your affirmations fail when the plane door opens

You’ve told yourself it’s safe.
You’ve had the safety briefing.
You’ve spoken to your trainer, who casually mentions this is his sixth jump of the day. Sixth! At 10 a.m.!

There are people in the tiny plane with you—like a group of 55-year-old aunties, chatting excitedly, and a calm 18-year-old boy whose parents gifted him this jump for his birthday. There’s also a 40-something woman who’s doing it for the third time.

Obviously, if they all can do it so chill... so can I, right?

I got into the little charter plane. It was beautiful, honestly. But the higher it went, the quieter I became. The ground started shrinking, and clouds became everything I could see. My mind slowly turned into mush.

Then, the plane door opened at 16,000 ft. That’s when every affirmation, every pep talk, every “you got this”... quietly died.

I had decided earlier that I would jump last. Five people jumped before me—smiling. I waited. And then...

I was the only one left.

That’s when the Indian kid drama began. Yes, I was 22, but please—don’t judge me.

“Mujhe nahi koodna... please don’t make me jump... please let me go back with the pilots…”

I started begging. Genuinely. Not for effect. For life.

But the crew had seen my type before. They just... ignored me.

I was tied to the trainer with belts so tight, he was basically wearing me like a backpack. Only his feet were still on the floor—mine were already hanging in the sky.

He walked us both to the edge of the door.

And said calmly:
“I’ll count 3-2-1… and we’ll jump on 1.”

The Experience

Threeeeeee... Twooooooo…

The man lied.
He jumped on two.

My scream was not human. I didn’t even know I could make that sound.
Eyes shut. Arms flailing.
And then…

I opened them.

And I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

The wind was slapping my face, but it didn’t hurt.
We were falling at 200 km/h. But it didn’t feel like falling.
It felt like… floating.
Like the world had flipped upside down and I was just drifting through the sky.

Below me—oceans, rivers, forests.
Shapes of clouds dancing beside me.
Everything looked unreal. Like some god had painted Earth with extra colours today.
The kind of beauty that makes you forget your name.

For the first time in so long—there was nothing in my head.
Not a single thought.
No anxiety.
No overthinking.
No past. No future.

Just this.

The sky. The breath. The silence. The wind.

I didn’t even know whether I was crying or just stunned.
It was like a reset button had been hit somewhere inside me.

And I think that’s the only reason people come back for this.

Not for the thrill.
But for that tiny sliver of time… when you are nothing, and yet somehow, everything.

I’m not sure my words can really say what it felt like.
Maybe just watch my face in the video.
It says everything.

What the Sky Taught Me

I didn’t expect lessons. But the sky had its own way of teaching. No language, no lecture—just a few truths that found me mid-air.

1. Commit before your mind changes—
Because if you don’t, your mind will convince you to run. But once you commit, it starts shifting in your favour. It follows your decision like a loyal dog, not the other way around.

2. The mind is loud, but the truth is quiet.
In the sky, there were no words—only breath. The noise fell away. All that was left was presence. That’s where truth lives: not in what we think, but in what we feel when nothing else speaks.

3. Fear is not the enemy—it’s the gatekeeper.
It’s strange. The more I resisted the jump, the more I felt alive when I did it. Sometimes fear guards the door to our most powerful self. On the other side of fear, there’s freedom.

4. You don’t need to be ready—you just need to say yes.
If I had waited to feel ready, I would never have gone. But life doesn’t ask for readiness—it asks for surrender. For one moment of courage. Just one.

5. You don’t have to be brave—just willing.
I wasn’t brave. I was terrified. But I said yes. And sometimes, that’s all that’s needed.

And now, when I feel restless or stuck again, I think of that sky.
Not because I want to jump again—
But because I know what stillness feels like. And that it’s still in me.

🌿 6. The present isn’t a place—it’s a feeling.
Falling through the sky, I wasn’t planning, analysing, or remembering. Just breathing. Just seeing. Just… here.

🌿 7. The body sometimes knows what the soul wants.
My hands were clenched, my voice was nervous—but my body leaned forward. It knew.

🌿 8. Fear never really goes away. It just gets tired when you stop giving it attention.
It screamed and screamed—and then I jumped. And suddenly, it didn’t have much to say.

Here’s the full video for the curious ones!