The Day I Jumped Off a Cliff Naked

What happens when life becomes a vulnerable leap into the unknown

Two years ago, with the dawn frost still clinging to the dormant grass outside, God told me to start writing.

I responded flatly, “Sorry God, that’s just not possible.”

I then proceeded to justify, to God of all people, all the reasons why I couldn’t become a writer.

I reminded him of my wife and four young boys, all of whom depended on me to provide for their well-being. As a marketing director, I consistently made a comfortable and consistent salary.

As a writer, I’d be lucky to afford a single Happy Meal on a bi-monthly basis. That’s what I’d been taught since I was old enough to hold a #2 pencil and not even divine intervention could convince me otherwise.

I vaguely remember once being eighteen.

Lost in my thoughts, I stood in our community college parking lot entirely isolated while surrounded by a bustling herd of Geology 101 students.

Everything about me screamed “I’m living away from home for the first time ever,” from the free buzz cut offered to me by a roommate to the scuffed up pair of Nike Airs. Over my shoulder hung my overnight pack, an old Converse gym bag of…