One way to fly
The desire to fly knocked around in my brain for 37 years. The idea first popped into my young and immortal head as a 17 year old freshman in college. My best friend and I were a little frustrated with our lack of relationships, so we decided to write about our failed fledgling attempts at female engagement. In typical cave man hormonal freshman fashion, we inscribed the epitaph to our failed ovetures “if you can’t get sex, you might as well jump out of a plane” on his dorm room wall. I guess we ultimately found companions, because we never pursued our unrequited dream of flight.
The desire to fly lay dormant in my developing brain until residency. This time a group of us intern adrenalin junkies whimsically picked a random rare day off to drive out to the cornfields of Illinois to a small airport in the middle of nowhere. I do not think this was fueled by a night of drunken bravado fueled inertia, but I am not sure. We “trained”, dressed the part, and waited expectantly in our jumpsuits and harnesses for the “go for launch” signal that never came. Late afternoon summer thunderclouds rolled in and the mission was scrubbed. Strike two.
Again the desire to fly went back into status quo hibernation in my limbic system after I met my future wife in the middle of a night shift. Eventually we made a life together and raised fraternal twin boys to launch to college over 19 years. Flying did not seem to be a reasonable risk in this chapter. But last fall, once again, as I readied to turn 54 years old, that nagging desire to fly surfaced to my consciousness. Why not now? I had “Rip Van Winkeled” my dream for one reason or another and by pure chance and circumstance for more than half my lifetime. My wife fully supported my desire after she checked that the life insurance was paid up. She even offered to join me on my quest and bravely watch me jump from below at the landing zone. On the prescupice of our empty nest weekend with our Aussie Doodles to my diligently vetted skydiving outfit in Chattanooga, TN, an unexpected trip to Houston stole my wife’s morally supportive presence from my now prepaid commitment to jump.
I was left alone with the dogs and the decision to honor my celebratory birthday decision to finally fly. Engaging with your fears and your brain is a daunting task at times. I knew the What, Why, When, and How. The only thing left was to pack up the car and drive through my fears to the consummation of those nagging dreams of a young immortal that had developed into a conscious mortal middle aged man. Before leaving the house, I decide to make sure all the bills were paid. I hesitated, but also wrote my family a note saying something to the effect that I loved them and that I “was off on another adventure” and that I “would see them very soon”. I took the tact of optimistic abundance instead of fearful scarcity that best laid plans could end in my demise.
I made it to The Moxy Hotel in Chattanooga, a familiar haunt for my wife and I and the dogs. I settled in at the bar for my “last meal” and a few beers with Lily and Rudy at my side. As usual, they attracted much attention due to their adorable fuzzy looks and good barroom behavior. I chatted with many locals and people in town for a national crew regatta. A few had gone skydiving and regaled me with tales of their bravery and how much of a fun rush it was. Some had done the deed more than once or planned to go for it again. I got pleasantly buzzed and filled my belly with delicious wood fired pizza. I collapsed into bed with anticipation that I have felt the night before my one and only marathon.
Having a beer with my Doodles
In a matter of fact fashion, I awoke to my alarm and set about my day as if it were any other day. Bundling the dogs and our things into the car, I set of for the final leg of my multi year journey. I forgot that on the other side of the city, I crossed into the central time zone, so I I was the first person to arrive at the jump zone. That gave me an extra hour to digest my decision and fears. The airport was nestled in the middle of a blue collar Tennessee community and looked a little scruffy to say the least, which did not exactly inspire confidence in me. I had ample time to disapate my nervous energy and walk around and contemplate my life and mortality. I chatted with my wife and kids about what they were up too and told them I loved them. I got to check out the hanger and was impressed with the plane and the professional gear and staff. I of course had to sign a million waivers exonerating the outfit from any liability of my choice. I had thought there would be a “training session”. I was wrong.
I was in the first jump group had my survival assigned to Edvardo. He was a jovial portly short statured male with a should patch on his lower lip. He was originally from Brazil and had been a paratrooper in the US Army for 9 years. I wondered how big our shared parachute was going to be! His record for jumps in one day was 21 “up and downs”. I asked him how old he was and he asked me if I wanted his age in chronological years or years since his first jump as many jumpers count. He strapped me up and, as I had paid for the premium package, the pictures and videos began. He asked me “why would I jump out of a perfectly good plane.” I had seen videos on the website of screaming unhappy jumpers with faces twisted in fear and I had decided that that was not going to me the way “I went out”! I told Edvardo that I was jumping to “learn to fly and embrace life” and silently to myself to face the fears that were holding me back from what I believed to be my greater potential. I was here to jump start a new chapter in my burgeoning entrepreneurial Life of FI (Financial Independence). I had declared S.M.A.R.T. (Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Realistic, and Timely) W.A.R. (Wealth Accumulation Rate) on FI by 59.5 and this was the opening volley.
Having a beer with my Doodles
In a matter of fact fashion, I awoke to my alarm and set about my day as if it were any other day. Bundling the dogs and our things into the car, I set of for the final leg of my multi year journey. I forgot that on the other side of the city, I crossed into the central time zone, so I I was the first person to arrive at the jump zone. That gave me an extra hour to digest my decision and fears. The airport was nestled in the middle of a blue collar Tennessee community and looked a little scruffy to say the least, which did not exactly inspire confidence in me. I had ample time to disapate my nervous energy and walk around and contemplate my life and mortality. I chatted with my wife and kids about what they were up too and told them I loved them. I got to check out the hanger and was impressed with the plane and the professional gear and staff. I of course had to sign a million waivers exonerating the outfit from any liability of my choice. I had thought there would be a “training session”. I was wrong.
I was in the first jump group had my survival assigned to Edvardo. He was a jovial portly short statured male with a should patch on his lower lip. He was originally from Brazil and had been a paratrooper in the US Army for 9 years. I wondered how big our shared parachute was going to be! His record for jumps in one day was 21 “up and downs”. I asked him how old he was and he asked me if I wanted his age in chronological years or years since his first jump as many jumpers count. He strapped me up and, as I had paid for the premium package, the pictures and videos began. He asked me “why would I jump out of a perfectly good plane.” I had seen videos on the website of screaming unhappy jumpers with faces twisted in fear and I had decided that that was not going to me the way “I went out”! I told Edvardo that I was jumping to “learn to fly and embrace life” and silently to myself to face the fears that were holding me back from what I believed to be my greater potential. I was here to jump start a new chapter in my burgeoning entrepreneurial Life of FI (Financial Independence). I had declared S.M.A.R.T. (Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Realistic, and Timely) W.A.R. (Wealth Accumulation Rate) on FI by 59.5 and this was the opening volley.
Fearless duckling
The weather was perfect. It was a crisp sunny fall day with not a cloud in the sky. Before long, 14 of us piled into a specially outfitted jump plane. It took a mere 15 minutes to get to 14,000 feet. Jump masters chatted with their charges and we enjoyed a beautiful view of fall colors in the Smokies. No seat belts on this plane. No safety instructions. No helmets for us. Oddly the instructors all wore helmets with facemarks so that we could not see their smiling eyes and probably so we did not knock out their teeth with the back of our heads. We buckled up to the belly of our instructors who wore the chutes. The pilot waggled his wings. We had reached the drop zone. It came more quickly than I might have imagined. It was all routine and business as usual for the non novices packed into the plane, Suddenly photographers and tandem jumpers disappeared out of the garage door that opened at the back of the plane. Edvardo and I were the first ones on which therefore meant that we were to be the last ones off.
Just stepping out for a breath of fresh air
We scooted back to the open door. My heart started pounding and my head ached in the unpressurized altitude. After too many years of this “crazy” idea bouncing around in my imagination, it very quickly became a stark reality. I had not had to physically train for this moment like I had for 20 weeks before my marathon. There was no physical pain, sweat, and tears to get me here. This journey had really just been (children close your G-rated eyes) one big “Mind Fuck”! Had I done all that I set out to do with my life? Was it worth risking what biologic time I had left for a moderately expensive thrill? I think it cost roughly $300 bucks to embrace free fall and find out if the parachute would really open. All of a sudden that did not seem like very much. It didn’t matter that my jump master had done it more times than he could remember. This was my first, and possibly my last jump. I was putting all my chips on the table and possibly leaving them all on the ground.
I hung suspended from my instructor, dangling like a sack of potatoes 14,000 feet from mother earth. The view was spectacular. The wind was chilly. I was glad that I had layered and wore gloves. My life hung briefly in the balance attached to a jovial Brazilian seated on the edge of our plane that I had just met 15 minutes ago. Height really had no meaning without your feet on the ground. He pulled my head back, told me to arch, and suddenly we were falling weightless towards terminal velocity. Gravity is a bitch. We homo erectus are doomed to fight is every day. Free fall is weightless freedom. I laughed. I smiled. The aging loose skin on my face was plastered like plastic man back towards my ears. My cheeks flapped in the roaring wing. I did not expect my ears to compress so fast and painfully. I know this because the entire 5 minute wild ride was captured in vivid video and stills by puffs of air through straws attached to the camera shutter releases on our flight photographer’s and instructor’s heads.
I felt pure joy. I embraced the the presence of the moment. I was so alive. This five minute jump was an unbelievable 37 year journey in the making. Why did I wait so long? This one minute of adrenalin pumping free fall seemed to last an hour. Miraculously the chute opened. I remember being glad that I did not have to be the one to remember to pull it. I was acutely aware again of the power of gravity as the harness painfully cinched snugly around my decelerating thighs grabbing my full weight. I felt so heavy in the light air. I saw the others below in our jump group floating to the ground. The technicolor chutes were beautiful. Edvardo let me fly the chute after taking us for a few dizzying centripetal spins.
Wow! Just like that, I had learned to fly. I saw an above ground pool near our landing strip and wondered if we might end up going for a cold swim. We came in hard and fast, all 450 pounds of us under a chute I later found out was certified up to 500 pounds! Edvardo said “lift up your legs”, so I did. We butt slid to a pinpoint landing. I was alive and uninjured. I wondered what the big deal really was after all. Why had it taken me so many years to embrace my dreams with goals and plans?
Wind in my “hair”
High fives and hugs all around! Our jump group was pumped and couldn’t stop talking about our shared experiences. We were all there for individual and common reasons. We had all travelled physically and mentally to the same place on different paths. Where would we go from here? Lily and Rudy were excitedly waiting for me in the car. What if I had not returned? I had forgotten about that issue, but maybe knowing that they would be there waiting with wagging tails for me gave me the peace to proceed unflinchingly. I saw my raw video and could not believe that that was what I had just done. I called my family to share the experience with them. The kids thought I was cool again for a brief moment. Maybe my wife would have rather cashed in on the term life. I sat in my car for a while soaking in my sun-drenched feelings, before returning to Chattanooga for a victory lunch and driving back to reality. It was all just part of another day of the 10,000 or so actuarial days I am told by The Social Security Administration that I have left, but what a thrilling day it was.
Learning to Fly is not much different from learning to FI. It is largely a EQ journey to a mindset that requires a little IQ mathematical skillsets and toolsets to pull off a reverse engineered life of financial sustainability and creative freedom that many inappropriately refer to as retirement. My first flight in this case may have been my last, unless my sons invite their dad on a camaraderie flight if they are bitten by the same bug.
I am still learning to FI. I managed to Rip Van Winkel that journey as well for far too long. “I wish I had…” echoed softly in my mind, but I have learned the hard way that regrets are only ballast on our present and futures. Without a plan as I exited one funnel for another in a paycheck to paycheck life of scarcity and survival until I woke on the hedonic treadmill at 48 years old only to realize that there was a much better way to live with intention. The rat race has no winners. I have been down the rabbit hole of FI. I have read countless books and blogs and listened to just as many podcasts as I exercised my physical portfolio while running the neighborhood and hiking with the dogs in the woods.
I Paused. I Planned. And in the last few years I have Pivoted like crazy in my “S.M.A.R.T. W.A.R. on Fi by 59.5″. I am taking back my life by design instead falling forever into the inertia of a mindless indebted single digit saving life of indebted servitude to the economy by default. For better and worse, I DIY our finances, but I own the outcomes. I manage our paper assets in a globally diversified cap weighted market portfolio of passive index funds with evidence based tilts. I also manage our new adventure into syndicated multifamily real estate investments. I am working on developing a location independent lifestyle laptop small business that begins with this blog and evolves into a fully fleshed out website at PivotPoints.co, a podcast that is likely to be named ‘The Goldilocks Project”, and a non-profit organization in “The Financial Literacy Project”. We have simplified, automated, and diversified our life-planned portfolio and our lives. We have down and rightsized our home and put languishing home equity back to work for us. I am writing this sputtering, sporadic blog while contractors paint, chisel, and bang their way into our new lifestyle. Change is inevitable. Risk is manageable. The real question is how you rationally embrace change and risk and learn to live a life of optimistic abundance and courage. I lept to my first Flight. I am still leaping to FI. The juice is in the journey and the process and is ultimately one of one of finding simple contentment, relationships, and gratitude in a mindful present with an eye on your future self.
Peace,
PivotPointsMD
