“One minute!” The Black Hat boomed from up near the front of the bird.
“One minute.” Every man and woman on the aircraft echoed back to the soldier behind them.
We were standing up, our static lines hooked to the overhead cable, and the weight of the parachute and reserve felt more real than ever. I was staring intently at the red light near the Jump Master. The moment it turned green, I knew nothing would ever be the same. I was in Airborne School at Ft. Benning, Georgia, and I was nineteen years old.
I remember taking that first step once the light switched. I vaguely remember handing off my static the line to the Jump Master before turning and exiting a perfectly good aircraft, but then there was nothing. We are trained to count to four. If you get to four and your descent hasn’t slowed, you are in some serious shit, but I can’t remember counting. The next thing I remember is the most exhilarating high I have ever felt. My body was pulsing with energy, but I could do nothing about it because I was harnessed to my ‘chute and falling toward Earth. My mind raced with every thought-all the thoughts- all at once. I couldn’t slow down, but I didn’t want it to, either. I looked around at all the other paratroopers floating around me and in that moment, it felt like a dream. I looked at the ground, still some five hundred plus feet below me, and it vaguely registered that somewhere down there, my Dad was watching.
The breeze felt heavenly on my sweat-drenched body: I was suspended from a perfectly inflated canopy and I wanted to stay up here forever. I composed myself enough to run through my inspection checklist and breathed a sigh of relief when all was a “go”. There was something unifying being in the air all together. The soldiers, sailors, marines, and airmen all around me were now my brothers and sisters, regardless of ethnicity, or background. We were part of the same, elite group, The Airborne. We were equals. We were all green, our differences ceased to matter, and all was right in that moment in time.
Until I hit the ground.
T-10D parachutes, on average, allow the soldier to travel at the velocity of roughly twenty-two feet per second. For weeks, two and a half specifically, as Airborne School candidates, we had trained relentlessly on our PLF’s, or Parachute Landing Falls. It wouldn’t be uncommon to be standing in the chow hall and hear that iconic phrase, “Jumpers hit it.” Immediately following that command, you had better be executing a perfectly rendered PLF.
“Jumpers hit it.”- standing in formation.
“Jumpers hit it.” – in line to do pull-ups before and after meals.
“Jumpers hit it.” – first thing when you wake up.
“Jumpers hit it.” – just before falling asleep.
And of course, “Jumpers hit it.”, in my dreams. I had fallen a lot in jump school. In fact, I now considered myself a legend amongst fallers. The guys from Jackass had nothing on me.
And then I hit the ground.
Gravity is an amazing thing. So is the density of the Earth’s crust. You know what isn’t amazing; the shock absorption of the human body. Notwithstanding the fact that I had executed a proper PLF, that landing jarred me. But even so, I had an ear-to-ear grin on my face.
“Get that fucking smile off your face and pack your ‘chute, Lehmann.” A Black Hat said as he moved on to inspect the health of the next paratrooper colliding with the unforgiving ground. The entire way, rucking in my ‘chute, the smile remained. I was hooked. During the next six years I would exit an aircraft mid-flight fifty-two times and from all sorts of aircraft and in all sorts of capacities, but one thing that never changed-when I would hit the ground, roll over, and release my canopy, I had that same dumbass grin on my face.
Looking back now I realize that the moment my body exited the C-130 on that first jump was a catalyst. Twenty-eight weeks prior to that moment I had been living in the small, rural town of Gillespie, IL, population 3500. We were the type of town that literally had one stop light. In fact, I remember when they installed it.
Now they have two.
Gillespie is the type of town where everyone knows everyone else- there are no strangers. And while there isn’t anything wrong with that, the moment the wind hit me at eight hundred feet above the earth, I was no longer that same kid I was only weeks prior. Since then I’ve been around the world. I have been to five of the seven continents, thirty-seven countries and I’ve experienced the good, bad, and everything in between in each of those places.
I regret none of it, because that’s what makes me who I am today.
Going back to the catalyst, going back to that moment when I had an experience unlike anything else in my life up until that point, going back to the reason I am currently writing these words…
GET OUT OF YOUR COMFORT ZONE.
It will change your life, just as it did mine.
It is my belief that a large portion of the racism, sexism, intolerance, bigotry, and general shittiness from one person to the next stems from a simple lack of exposure and understanding. It stems from fear. Let’s work together to break down these barriers and connect with our fellow humans.
If you can’t understand the “Me Too” movement or why women and men are only coming forward now with sexual allegations, engage with someone who’s posted about it.
If you believe no one should own a gun, go spend time with lawful gun owners. Personally, I recommend the people at Black Rifle Coffee Company.
If you want more clarity on what it is like to be scared in America if you are Black, Muslim, or a Woman, go engage someone that knows it all too well.
If you can’t understand why someone would still support Trump, go talk to someone who does.
And If you can’t understand why someone feels that equality should be an all-encompassing term, you guessed it, go and speak to someone who has been marginalized.
The most important part of doing so is to make it personal. Don’t engage on Facebook-or on Twitter- meet someone new. All experiences won’t be great, but that’s the point. And it’s OK.
Let’s break the cycle of fear, and replace it with understanding, which is tough to do unless you’ve ‘walked a mile in someone else’s shoes’. So, go out, and walk that mile. See what the ‘other side’ can teach you, and exit your comfort zone. Preferably, as quickly as possible.
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This post is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: iStock
