The Structure of Courage: Fear, Drop, Bliss

What skydiving taught me about courage, life, and surrender

In November 2022, I went skydiving for the first time in my life. I was in South Africa volunteering on a game reserve, and the other volunteers had arranged it for the weekend and invited me to join them, so I did.

And it was one of the most terrifying and brilliant things I have ever done.

I want to talk about the nature of courage, and I'm going to take this as an example case. Partly because I want you to think I'm cool and courageous (which is lame, I know). Partly because I want me to think I'm cool and courageous, so that I actually will be again (I've not been courageous enough lately). But mostly because I think it's a really vivid example that illustrates the structure and rhythm of courage. I break that down into three basic parts: fear, drop, bliss.

Fear

For me, the fear built slowly. I wasn't afraid when I agreed to go skydiving. It was just an idea. I was a little nervous when we were on our way to the small airfield we'd be flying from. It was getting real. I felt some beginnings of fear when I saw the plane and the parachutes being folded back into the packs. Getting too real.

I kept reminding myself that fear viewed positively becomes excitement. And it was exciting. The fear built further as we received our instructions and were attached to our professional sky divers on our backs (I'm not going to jump from a plane on my own!). At this point, there was some pressure. There were instructions to be followed. We could do things wrong.

Then we got in the plane and took off. There was no door on the plane, just an opening onto the sky. Now I was terrified. There were no seats either: I was strapped to a guy's lap, on the floor, looking out of a hole in the wall that opened onto an abyss. What if we rose too quickly and I just slipped out? I had agreed to go first, so I was closest to the door. There was nothing to grab onto either. I just had to trust that these things do not happen.

The ground kept receding and the temperature fell. The emotional pressure kept building, even as the air pressure must have been falling. I decided to say a couple prayers in my head, just in case. Possibly in Latin. I (1) didn't want to die, and (2) wanted to make sure I was at peace with God (if he exists) before I died.

Drop

Then we reached the required altitude, and it was time to fall. The straps were tightened so I was snugly attached to my guy. Then it was time to shuffle awkwardly towards the gaping door. All my nerves were electrified. The closer I got, the more I felt the rushing wind. But shuffling forwards is doable, easy. Small, minimal steps. I got to the edge and put my feet gently over, then curled them under the plane (the instructors said to think of yourself as a banana). Then we shuffled forwards further, inch by inch, till I could feel my centre of gravity at my upper bum, right on the edge between plane and nothingness. He began a countdown from 3 while gently rocking back and forwards.

On 1 (not 0!), he tipped us over and we

dropped.

A human stomach should not feel like that! It should not be up there!

It was pure terror like I've never known. There was no object of terror to grapple with or to flee. No concept I could break down. Just sheer, physical, non-conceptual terror. Just internal screaming.

I shut my eyes at first. The sensation, the fear, was too overwhelming. I felt like I was tumbling upside down, which is not good. Like all my body was wrong. I was falling, and there was nothing to break my fall.

Bliss

I realised if I kept my eyes closed, I would be missing out, so I opened them. And it was spectacular.

I let go of my fear, and fell. There was nothing for fear to do, so I might as well just enjoy the ride! Fear became ecstasy. Energy, joy, life, rushing through my veins. I began laughing and shouting how awesome it was. And then ecstasy became bliss.

That complete letting go. Being entirely vulnerable. Entirely powerless. Trusting. Abandoning.

My mind became a strange kind of blank as I took it all in. Electric yet still. Full and empty. Excitement and peace. Bliss.

And let me tell you, nothing can hold you quite like Nothing.

The parachute was deployed, which feels like suddenly having your soul yanked up out of your body, and we floated gently down. A bit of a breather. I suppose the parachute would have been terrifying too, just a minute earlier, but after free-falling, being suspended by a parachute felt as safe as solid ground.

We landed, but I remained on cloud 9 for the rest of the day.

Lessons

Why am I telling you this again? Right, I wanted to talk about courage more generally.

Courage is the edge separating fear and bliss.

It's shuffling through the fear, step by tiny step. And then the last tiny step: gently tilting over the edge, into the unknown, the void, the out-of-your-control. It's not big actions, it's a series of tiny actions with big fears.

And then it's letting go, abandoning full control, and enjoying the ride. Courage drops us into the unknown, where we can find absolute terror and absolute bliss. It's the thrill of taking the risk.

Courage is not about taking control. If I wanted control, I would have stayed on the ground. Courage is about choosing to give up control, to take a risk, to be vulnerable.

And on the other side of courage, in the midst of uncertainty and vulnerability, lies wonder, ecstasy, bliss.

The Metaphysics of Courage

I want to tie this back to my recent posts about metaphysics, because I find it illuminating.

Firstly, in light of my belief that things are their relations, courage is essential to existence. To exist at all requires having the courage to be exposed by entering into relations with others. Relation is exposure. Touching and being touched. Knowing and being known. Changing and being changed. To exist in relation is to be vulnerable.

To perfectly hide yourself away from all risk, all exposure, would be to cease existing. The more we hide ourselves away, the less fully we exist. To live at all requires a measure of daring.

And secondly, courage is about embracing emptiness, potentiality, uncertainty, change. It is free-falling. It’s about taking risks, being surprised, and being transformed. It is letting go of what is fixed (the ground) and being held by what is fluid (the sky). It is dying and being born again.

Ordinary Courage

Courage is, therefore, much more ordinary than we often think. It’s not always the big, dramatic things like skydiving. It’s anything and everything where we head into the unknown, into risk, vulnerability, and fear. That’s every day that we show up for life. Stepping out of your front door is courage.¹ Sharing an idea at work is courage. Telling a joke is courage. Making a new friend is courage. Hitting ‘publish’ is courage.

I will give another example from my own life. I got a long overdue haircut yesterday. My hair was overgrown, and was actually causing me pretty bad sensory discomfort. But I had repeatedly put off getting a haircut because I find talking to people outside my close circle, especially on my own, very frightening. It knots me up inside. It’s another form of stepping into the unknown. But I went. And when my barber was starting to talk with me, after some initial hesitancy, I let go and embraced the unknown, deciding not to hide myself away but to dare to really engage. And you know what? We had a great conversation!

Excess

This is not to say that we should abandon all control entirely, do everything that scares us, or be entirely vulnerable with every stranger we meet. Courage can lead to bliss, but it can also lead to incredible pain. And while living in fear means reducing our existence, being reckless means failing to take responsibility for the shape of our existence.

What's more, chasing vulnerability, risk, or courage for its own sake can paradoxically be just another means of control. Not truly embracing the unknown, but chasing a high. Think of those who give up their lives chasing the thrill/release of drugs, alcohol, adrenaline, sex, gambling, or even religious experiences. At a certain point, it stops being courage at all and becomes just another shell to hide within.

With that said…

Be Courageous!

We have to be courageous! We have to dare to live! And yes, it's tough. Yes, it's scary. Yes, it's risky. But that's because courage is life! Life's tough. Life's scary. Life's risky.

Life will hurt you: I can promise you that. Life will hurt you in ways you cannot imagine or prepare for. But life (and courage) will also bring you incredible happiness. Bliss you cannot imagine or prepare for.

You don't have to do anything big. Just wiggle your butt forwards bit by bit. Tiny, doable steps, in the face of fear. And then just — slip over the edge.

What do you think?

• Is existence courage? Is life courage?

• Does this account of courage fit with your experiences?

• Is there anything I've got wrong about courage? Anything I've missed?

• Am I cool and courageous?

• What has courage looked like in your life? Share your cool stories!

I look forward to hearing from you in the comments below!

Bliss. (What’s my tongue doing?)

1. “It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door," he used to say. "You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to. Do you realize that this is the very path that goes through Mirkwood, and that if you let it, it might take you to the Lonely Mountain or even further and to worse places?” - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring