With so many working, capable planes in the skies today, why, you might ask, would I board one with the intention of jumping out of it? And to throw another wrench in the wheel, why would I pay for it? The answer is easily found: I have an indefatigable desire for lightening speeds. My good mother approved my skydiving (and by approved what I mean is she realizes I am 22 and mostly capable of my own actions, except for some basic fundamentals like reading, tying both shoes [I just get so tired after one!] and walking the dog after dark), but after I landed she said "Oh Dang! I forgot you have absolutely no common sense when it comes to going fast! I never would have allowed you to go had I remembered!" How proud I was that she offered such a grand compliment! It came to me like a drop of fresh water on a salty lip. Skydiving was incredible. I would say it was indescribable, but that would be lying, as you shall soon see. First off, we boarded this itsy-bitsy plane with two long benches for seats and a pulldown door. Let me rephrase that, with a door. (Apparently the pulldown function was broken that day because the door remained open the entire ascent to 1400 ft, even through the jumper closest to it was not buckled in. He would stick his hand out the doorframe and let it glide in the wind). The plane took us over the deep blue and then, after watching one closely knit couple leap, it was my tandem's turn (it was not my turn, I had no control over when we went). We walked to the edge and before I could clap my hands we dove out of the plane, headfirst. We did flips and spins and twirls (manly twirls, not the ones ballerinas do); we went headfirst and pouting-chest first. We sped at 120mph straight down and watched as the ground got more and more decipherable. Mind you, we were over the ocean. I had my mouth open screaming with delight the whole time but I couldn't hear myself at all and my cheeks were blown up like a pufferfish. Maybe Evan-my instructor-went deaf from my screaming but I didn't even remember I was yelling until he pulled the chute. Once the chute was pulled we glided towards land, admiring the Bonzai Pipeline, Susnset Beach and other noteworthy North Shore allurements. Evan let me control the parachute, but only for one turn because in that half a second I was able to put a hole in the chute and somehow call a hoard of sharks to gather below us, swimming between spiky rocks. The whole experience was short and incredible. The plane ride was thrilling, the jump was spontaneous and the fall was riveting and titillating. That, my friend, is why I voluntarily leapt out of a working plane at 1400 ft. over the shark invested waters of Hawai'i. Oh yea, the goggles were pretty sweet too, that's probably what finally sealed the deal for me.