The Grace of a Bungee Jump
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A few years back, I went with my family in North Carolina to a big amusement park. After turns on the merry-go-round, the water slide and the roller coaster, our sights turned towards the bungee jump. My sister, my nieces and I stood watching the huge crane lift two people at a time up and up to the height of a 10-story building, then drop them towards the pavement. My sister Kathy and niece Kailey immediately said “No way!” My niece Lauren and I stepped bravely forward.
We lay down on our stomachs on a mat and were strapped into connecting vests with a large metal hoop on the back. The bungee cord hook clicked in, and the crane started to draw us up into the air slowly. The parking lot, the Ferris wheel, my family were all getting smaller and smaller. My adrenaline started to flow, and the fight-or-flight instinct kicked in fiercely. I had an overwhelming feeling of wanting escape, yet there was nowhere to go. My niece, only 13, started to whimper, then cry. “I can’t do this, Aunt Louise,” she squeaked. “I want to get down!” “It’s too late, Lauren; they can’t hear us,” I said. “We are going to have to let g…”
The word “go” stuck in my mouth because we suddenly were plunging to the earth on a bungee cord. The air was whipping by our ears and all was a blur. I felt a surge of true terror, shut my eyes tightly, and screamed spontaneously at the top of my lungs, along with Lauren. We dropped endlessly, it seemed, and then, at the bottom, something fantastic happened.
We bounced up and down, and then launched into flight. The bungee cord contraction and release sent us into an arc, and we were swinging back and forth like a pendulum. Our eyes flew open in astonishment. Following the horrible seconds of falling there came an exhilarating flight, the flying of birds, or planes, or vivid dreams. We gazed out in delight and laughter, watching the amusement park swing by, the larger landscape to the horizon, all the way to the distant toy skyline of downtown Charlotte. It was quiet and peaceful, absolutely calm. We had completely let go—no choice really, once we hooked onto the cord and crane—and the result was a freedom to fly that we had not imagined. We saw the wide earth below us.
The bungee cord, the plunging, the bouncing: all of that is life. The arc of the pendulum, the flight after you are forced to let go: that is grace. It’s not what you expected; it might come after a hair-raising drop or challenging event—and still, grace arrives as a gift you did not know you would receive. Perhaps you have your own description of the sensation. Grace is the absolute calm of being caught. Grace is the peaceful knowing you are beloved. It is ending your scream, opening your eyes, and smiling at a new landscape.
- The Grace of a Bungee Jump - June 1, 2011
