I recently heard Ruby Wax suggesting that people who throw themselves into extreme activities—skydiving, mountain climbing, the whole thrill-seeking lot—might be using it to escape something deeper. That it’s a sign of emotional unrest, or even a broader societal malaise. Her words stayed with me, probably because I’d just jumped out of a plane.

To be fair, it wasn’t a spontaneous crisis-inspired leap—it was a 25th birthday celebration for Betsy, and we live not far from the Hibaldstow Skydiving Centre. We’d joked about it for years. It was that or a spa day, and frankly, I’ve had my fill of spas after living in Thailand. So we thought—why not?

The build-up was worse than the jump itself. Friends and family thought we were mad. And in the early hours before the jump, I could hear my mum’s voice in my head questioning my sanity—and even my parenting. But I reminded myself this was Betsy’s 25th birthday gift. She’s fully grown, fully formed (so they say), and completely up for it.

On the day, we waited around a lot—more exhausting, I suspect, for our supporters watching. Thanks, Mick, Callum and Mary. When it came to practice, I was embarrassed at how difficult I found lifting my legs high enough for a smooth landing. A sharp reminder that while age doesn’t stop you, lack of fitness can certainly slow you down.

But the jump itself? Not scary. It’s all such a rush. You’re strapped in, looking up—not down—and then you’re just… out. I wasn’t worried, even with my instructor fiddling endlessly with my straps to get them just right. What did surprise me was the cold. That night, I had toothache and my body felt like it had been flung from the sky. Because it had.

The parachute glide was gentle—more fairground than freefall—and the landing less graceful than I’d have liked. My instructor had to politely tell me I could sit up now. I might’ve got a little too comfortable lying on him!

So, did it change my life? Not quite. Was it unforgettable? Absolutely. We both asked our instructors mid-air if the other one was okay—which says everything, really. It was a wonderful bonding experience.

But Ruby Wax’s comments did make me pause. Was there something behind our need to do it? Maybe. I’ve felt a bit emotionally adrift since losing my mum last January. There’s something about grief that leaves you searching—sometimes for clarity, sometimes for connection. Maybe this was part of that.

The next day brought a more peaceful kind of challenge—a sponsored swim with my choir friends, raising another £600 for the Rotary Club. No adrenaline, no altitude. Just gentle relays, laughter, and good company. A reminder that not all bonding moments need to be gravity-defying.

And then, as if one extreme wasn’t enough, Betsy and I found ourselves parasailing in Tenerife during a mini break. Costa Adeje gave us sunshine and five-star rest, but true to form, we couldn’t resist another adventure. That one did feel scary—suspended over the sea with minimal guidance. At one point, Betsy ended up between the parasail boat and the taxi boat and dropped straight into the Atlantic. We couldn’t stop laughing. It was one of those absurd, unscripted moments that cement memories forever.

And just as a side note—Annie, if you’re reading this, we missed you. I know you were busy doing your own wonderful things, but you’re not off the hook. You are always invited—nay, encouraged—to join me on these madcap adventures. Just say the word, and I’ll find the next slightly ridiculous thing for us to do together.

So, was our skydiving a sign of something deeper? Maybe. But not something broken. If anything, it was a step toward healing, connection, and joy.

And whether we’re plummeting from the sky or padding gently through water, I’ve come to realise, sorry if it this is cheesy (!) it’s not about the extremes—it’s about finding each other and staying close to those we love in the free-fall.