The Day I Jumped Off a Cliff Naked

What happens when life becomes a vulnerable leap into the unknown

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I vaguely remember once being eighteen.

After a forgettable night with the King Size Reese’s, Jen, and her frizzy black hair, I rolled out of my KOA cabin bunk bed already dressed for the day.

In the midst of this post-adolescent tailspin, an unmistakable voice in my head boomed.

“Jump.”

“Jump.”

“Jump.”

“Jump.”

With gravity no longer my friend, I hurdle feetfirst toward a deep blue watery grave. I’m surprised to have enough time to partially string together six words:

20 years have gone by, but here again, I stood, staring down at the fossilized remains of what I’d convinced myself was best for me to become; best for me and my family.

“Jump.”

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