It's Time

It’s Time

I remember those words as clearly as if they were spoken today:

“Okay, Melanie — it’s time for me to take your pilot chute now.”

Even now, just thinking of them makes my heart race.

Almost twenty years ago, I was at a party. My client’s wife — who somehow became my friend after this — said casually,

“I’d love to skydive someday.”
“Me too,” I said.
“Let’s do it together.”
“Yes, let’s!”

A few days later she called.

Her: “I booked our skydiving session for Sunday!”
Me: “WHAT??”
Her: “You said you wanted to do it.”
Me: “Yes — some day!”
Her: “Exactly. Sunday.”
Me: “Wait… what?”
Her: “I booked it. Sunday.”
Me: “Oh crap. Sure. Can’t wait.”

Sunday came faster than the speed of gravity.

After a short “what to do if everything goes wrong” briefing — which I remember mostly as pray — we climbed into a small, very tired Cessna. We went up. And up. And then, just for good measure, up some more.

I wondered if the plane would make it.
I was grateful I was already wearing my parachute.
And then I heard it:

“Okay, Melanie — it’s time for me to take your pilot chute now.”

I was terrified. And thrilled. But mostly terrified.

“Okay, now climb out the door. Hold the strut.”

Right. No problem.

“Look at me… and let go.”

What I wanted to do was stay glued to that plane — maybe ask a few more clarifying questions, make small talk, renegotiate life choices. But I looked into his eyes — and I swear he hypnotized me. Because the next thing I knew, I was falling through the sky, wind screaming, feeling more alive than I ever had before.

You want to know what relief feels like? It’s that instant your parachute opens and you realize you’re not going to die. Not yet, anyway.

I didn’t exactly collect my wits — there may have been whoo-hooing involved — but eventually the ground crew came over the radio:

“Pull your steering cords, Melanie.”

Oh, right. Landing. Still important.

When my feet finally touched the ground, I understood something unexpected: that regret isn’t what you feel when you fall — it’s what you feel when it’s over too soon.

Now, whenever I’m scared — before a speech, a risk, or a leap into something new — I remember that day. The fear, the rush, the moment of letting go.

And the only regret I had: that it ended.

So if someone tells you,

“It’s time,”

Don’t hesitate.
Step out.
Let go.
And enjoy the ride.