GreyLake

I haven't been in the sport very long, but I've been on the DZ nearly every day since I started (and I miss it on those rare days when obligation takes me elswhere). So I've seen a good number of people enter and shortly thereafter exit the sport, for any number of reasons that don't typcially satisfy (even when they do seem reasonable). I think the hardest part of folks going MIA is meeting people you actually like, maybe spend a little great time with, and then they're gone when you'd perhaps hoped they'd be one of the few people you could share a passion with. It seems to me that most of us risk our lives because we love to skydive, and few people feel the same. Any decent relationship, of course, requires people relate to one another; and if skydiving is a major factor in your life, then so it must be to those around you. Then, too, if we identify with skydiving and someone rejects the sport, then ego might move us to take it as a personal affront, which tends to ache. Fortunately, we can jump and cheer up.

Prolly not. . . but then that makes me feel kinda selfish, cause (and I know this is absurd) I could buy up all kinds of land to preserve with a billion bucks. Or like R&D into corn-fuelled cars, or something. Life is pretty fun, though, you know?

I think that in any of our endeavors, especially ones where we'd effect change on a level that exceeds our personal sphere (i.e, community, country, planet), nobody's perfect. Some of us try, some of us do our best, and some try harder than others. In any case, caring a little is better than not caring at all. The "perfect" pursuit of some goal entails a fanaticism that, unchecked, could lead to some pretty unsavory results. I remember, for example, when a few extremists torched a hummer dealership. I'm sure they thought (think) that they truly, deeply care. Danger in absolutes! If everyone tries a little, a lot gets done. Not as much as if everyone tries a lot, but I'm of the school of thought where anything is better than nothing. Let's go to candy mountain.

I had been drinking a lot of vodka with a guy and we were all melodrama. He starts punching himself, mostly in the face, with great vigor. I warned him to stop, and when he didn't I smashed my own head into a steel stair-rail (KERTHUNGGGG) and split skin just above the brow pretty proper. (He gave a look of utter mortification and cried "Oh, No!": success)! He tried to convince me I needed stitches, but I didn't buy it. Then I saw a mirror, and we walked to the emergency room and I got 6 stitches. That was almost a year ago (the stitches and bruising worked with my halloween costume) and the scar's all gone. Wee, good times.