Why my first bungy jump worked out at my second attempt

Shanghai changed many things for me. Not only that I studied at Fudan University. At the end of this time I tried to travel alone for the first time of my life. Because I didn’t receive permission for entering Tibet, I headed south to Nepal. My skepticism about being alone was always big. But after a few days on Nepalese roads, this seemed completely unfounded. Because traveling alone created the basis for many exciting encounters with new cultures through which I became a much more open minded person. Shouldn’t I also try to overcome my fear of heights now here in Nepal? I should. I’m holding a brochure from a travel agency in Kathmandu. It recommends “The Last Resort”: a 160m jump into a tropical Himalayan gorge on the border to Tibet. Seductive.

I’ll do it. Together with a crazy Australian I registered for the jump in Nepal. Of course my destiny picked an Australian companion. Countdown: 3 days. However, the guts I’ve had for taking the first step was followed by a weird feeling. I didn’t know where it came from, but the next day the same question kept hitting my head: “Why are you doing this?” I thought about it for a long time. And to be honest, the answer was clear: pure ego.

How cool the picture would be if I jump off that bridge. I imagined. I mean, from me! Someone who thinks about that jump two evenings before while already paling in bed with fear. But ego alone is never a good reason to do something. And never enough. The weird feeling got worse. Which is exactly why I went to the travel agency one day before the bungy jump and canceled. I had already paid 30%. But staying true to my feeling seemed more important to me. No big decisions without approval from my inner voice.

Of course I didn’t think about it for three years. The thought was gone. Until I arrived in Queenstown, New Zealand. World capital for crazy outdoor activities. And for some reason I held again the brochure with a bungy jump in my hands. Should I dare? I should. But did I want to dare? This time my feeling should decide as well. A day later it felt right. I really booked the jump.

I think, a lot of people are doing a pact with their fear and think: ‘As long as I can avoid it, my fear won’t come back’. Sooner or later, this way of thinking would really narrow the radius of my life far too much. Rather I find a way to better understand my fear of heights. To endure them and live through it. Taking the bull by the horns. Was it fear at all? Or anxiety?

In contrast to anxiety fear is triggered by external stimuli. it can result for example from a real threat from a poisonous snake, an intense alarming reaction under high emotional tension. It occurs quickly and can fade away quickly. Anxiety however, comes from within. An uncomfortable feeling of concern about a threat that is often unclear and blurry and could be ahead of us. Constant tension and vigilance can result. Anyway. One cannot control anxiety without knowing fear. That was reason enough for me to do it.

The question also arises the other way round: Why not? Why are we so afraid in facing death? For most people, death is a horrific idea that should be ignored for as long as possible. I want to stand on the edge, look down, and know it’s okay. Fears are important, they protect us from recklessness. Throughout evolution cowards were the ones who always had better survival chances. Brave ones die first. But is a bungy jump reckless? Definitely not. Statistics tell everything. A girl this morning told me that she loves her life too much to make a bungy jump while smoking a cigarette. Okay…

Bus started. We were all in a good mood. Singing our fear around that ultimate courage challenge. Until we came to the Nevis Valley. First there was the briefing. Each of us already had numbers and different weights with us. It really got serious when a tiny little transport basket brought us to the middle station high above the valley. For the first time we could see how deep this valley really was. Talks are helping. But then it started without further ado. We were all looking at the first candidate. Poor guy. I looked at him and immediately lost sight of him. When I heard from the reactions that everything was going well, I didn’t know which of my feelings was more dominant. The relief that this “tester” just proved that it was safe. Or the fear of being one person closer to my own jump now. Totally nervous.

It’s my turn! My name is called. Oh no! Tom from the bungy team brings me to the couch. The heavy bungy line is getting ready for me. And gets attached to my feet. Just the same way as you would attach ankle chains to a prisoner’s feet. Again I ask what I have to do. Just to hide my natural instincts. My heart beats faster and faster. Tom says I should look into the camera quickly. Huh? What? Where? Oh there. Quick smile for the photo pretending total coolness. Then I have to get up. Oh dear.

I totally underestimated the weight of the bungy line. It pulled me down. Probably it’s just my knees beginning to buckle. My feet became like roots. I had to concentrate to move them with my mind. With the smallest steps I could make I went out to that little platform. It’s windy. What if I trip now? Please hold me tight. My body has never been that much under tension. The closer I approached to the platform, the more my legs tried to resist automatically. It’s clear: my body switched to emergency power only.

My toes were at the very edge. I felt all of those 132 metres going down below me. Stay cool. Instinctively I happened to look all the way down. And I tried so much not to. Fortunately there was no time to think. My veins pumped all the adrenaline into every cell of my body. Tom checked everything one last time. “Are you okay?” he asked. “I’m fine”, as if you could reply anything else. And Tom started the countdown: 3, 2, 1… At that moment, my body was like a shell. Completely thoughtless. My body was left from soul and strength… Go!

What. A. Speed. My consciousness came back. I only heard a constantly loud “Woooohooooo” from my mouth. 6.5 seconds of free fall. From 0-100 km/h in only 2 seconds. And it was over. The rope catapulted me up again. Now pure panic turned into pure bliss. And free fall again. Woooohooooo! I felt like Superman! 😀

Just like a fish hanging on a hook upside down I got pulled up back to the middle station. That was a bit painful because blood pressure in my head rose quickly. My eyes were swollen. Never mind. Once at the top, I couldn’t keep myself under control – I hugged everyone. That joy is tremendous. I can’t believe it, I really did it! I would even have loved to fly longer.

My first attempt for a bungy jump in Nepal didn’t work because only my ego wanted it at the time. That’s why I resigned. At my second attempt in New Zealand, I wouldn’t deny that afterwards I’ve found my bungy photo pretty cool indeed. But in Queenstown circumstances were much different for me: Primarily I wanted to jump for the sake of the learning process. Understanding the fear of death deeper than before can have a radical impact on our lives. Learning to die means learning to live. Priorities in life can change according to your awareness of death. Maybe afterwards we want to accumulate fewer things, are less obsessed with unattainable security, less preoccupied with “becoming someone”. My bungy jump was my coach. For me, it has led to live more in the present with even more confidence and less fear and anxiety. Actually, what we fear is usually not really our death, just the relationship of our idea of ​​death.