The feeling wasn't really in my stomach, it was somewhere in my chest. And it didn't really feel like butterflies, more like lead in my lungs. I felt like a professional, about to do something I had only ever dreamed of. As my helmet strap was tightened and my radio switched on, I felt calm, strangely calm. It was as if it wasn't really happening. The sky was a true blue, patched with wisps of cloud high above, perfect conditions for what I was about to do. If I really was going to go through with it.

We all stood up and made our way carefully towards the plane, entering individually as we were ordered, all the time repeating the rules: protect your static line; watch your altimeter; obey your jumpmaster. This was to be my first jump, static line - so the chute would open automatically. All I needed to do was guide myself towards the landing pad, and enjoy the ride. There was no room for formalities as we sat between each other's legs, next to the open door. As the plane began to move we looked at each other, unable to speak above the roar of the engine. We all felt the same, yet for each of us it was still an individual experience. For some it was frightening, for some it was exciting, for all of us it was an experience. Everything I've ever done in my life has been chalked up to experience. Never a mistake, always an experience. And so never a regret.

A deep breath. The plane began to climb and my head was bent over my altimeter. 1,500 feet. I craned to look out of the window, watching the patchwork quilt of fields. That had always been my favourite memory of planes, the view of those fields as we rose slowly and steadily above them. 2,000 feet. Heart beating faster. Cold air blowing into my face. Deep breath. Deep breath. Exhale. A calm swept over my whole body. The lead in my lungs was still there, dragging down my chest. But I couldn't go back now, I knew that when the engine cut I would be out that door, and experiencing a moment I would never, ever forget.

3,000 feet. The plane began to steady itself. At 3,500 feet the pilot would even it out, the engine would stop, and we would be out that door. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. I wasn't afraid. I was never afraid. 3,500 feet. This was it. The jumpmaster shouted directions to the pilot. "Left… Left… Right a bit.... Left..."

"Cut!"

The engine stopped immediately. All that could be heard was the whistle of wind as we hung in the air, as if dangling from an invisible string. It was as if we were toy soldiers, in a model aircraft hanging from a young boy's ceiling. None of it felt real.

"In the door!"

The young man in front of me positioned himself in the open door way. Head up, legs out and back, arms locked against the frame…

"And out!"

He pushed away.

"1,000…2…."

His voice trailed away as he dropped, plummeting like a stone towards that very distant earth. All we saw was his head, rushing down below the door. Then a thud, as if he were caught on the line, trying to get back into the plane. His static line had cut away, and we could see him circling below, his parachute fully open and gliding away. The engine roared back into life as we repositioned, ready for the next jump. This time it was my turn.

I knew it was too late to back out. Of course, it never was too late to refuse to jump, but I had come so far that to give up now… I would never forgive myself! The plane began to steady and right itself.

"Cut!"

"In the door!"

Deep breath. Big smile at the jumpmaster. I was ready for this. I could do it. I was gonna jump. I could feel the thrill rushing through my body. My God - I was gonna jump out of a plane! 3,500 feet up in the air. I was going to jump. Really jump. Out of the plane. Into nothingness below!!

"And out!"

I pushed.

"1,000… 2,000…"

I spread into the arched position, battling the rushing wind around me. I had expected to feel as if I were flying, in control as if I were perhaps floating down like a feather. But the pull of gravity was strong, and I had trouble keeping my position. I wanted to turn, to fall. There really was nothing around me, nothing holding me. I was falling. All I could do was count, and hope nothing would go wrong.

"3,000… 4,000… 5,000"

I felt my whole body tugged as I was pulled upwards out of my rapid descent. That wonderful feeling, as if I were a puppet being jaunted on my strings, meant that my chute had opened. All was well. There were a few twists in my lines, which I duly kicked out, turning like a child on a swing. But otherwise the chute was perfect, no cut lines, no ripped material, no streamers, no emergency.

The rest of the flight went smoothly, as I followed the directions emanating from my radio. I practised turning and flaring, then covered the necessary ground towards my landing. As I hung in the air all I could think of was the peace around me. No rushing wind, not even a breeze on my face. No sound, except the occasional crackle from my radio. It was as if I were all alone up there. The solitude was amazing. I wanted to hang forever, gliding over those patchwork fields, admiring the glistening lake and thicket of trees. I was at peace with the world, and for once the world was at peace with me.

My life had been a series of events, almost textbook. I had been young, and experienced a loving family and typical childhood. The teenage years had been the worst, with so many unsolvable problems that had come back to haunt me in later life, and which had moulded me into the person I was that day I decided to jump. As I had grown up I had enjoyed life, the good and the bad parts. But I was thankful I was through the rough patches. I wouldn't go back through them again even if I could. I still laughed at my awkwardness in youth, how I had been shy, quiet and alone in many ways. Perhaps if things had been different I might have enjoyed it enough to long for my youth once more. But things had happened, and now all I was concerned with was the future.

And right now the future involved me landing in the corner of a field, on a sand-pit in which someone had drawn a big smiling face. I laughed loudly, and turned my chute into the wind ready for the descent. As I approached I seemed to speed up, and the ground came towards me alarmingly fast. At fifteen feet I heard the order:

"And Flare!"

I pulled my arms down as fast and as hard as I could, closing the wings of the chute and bringing myself down to the ground as softly as I could. There was hardly a bump as I touched the earth once more, yet I still managed to fall to my knees, unprepared for such an easy landing. A few seconds passed as I reflected on what I had just done, and then I gathered my lines, pulling in my chute ready for the van-ride back to the club. The jump was over, and I had done it. My first parachute jump.

But being me I had to do it again to get it right.

That evening I drove home happy that I had fulfilled a goal. Tomorrow I would find something else I had longed to do, and aim to do it. But tonight I wanted only to sleep. The whole day had been happily exhausting, and after a light dinner and a few drinks I settled down to sleep. A satisfied 20 year old who had just jumped out of a plane. A satisfied 20 year old whose life would never be the same again.