MY FEET TOUCH THE GROUND. The canopy gently falls in soft folds onto the tussocks, and I'm laughing. The last few minutes have been a little overwhelming, and it feels as if part of my mind is still in flight, not yet caught up with the experience. I'm looking around, taking it all in and gradually coming down to earth when he dashes up to me to deliver his message. "You're mad", he told me. This profound insight was based on the undeniable fact that what I had been doing has risks.

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I've been privileged to be part of a community of outdoor athletes whose attitudes to life I admire. As a group, they are intelligent, contemplative, optimistic, healthy and considerate. We apparently score highly in lateral thinking, problem solving and emotional stability. As a sport - or art, perhaps - human flight is exceptionally serious and we know it. It should be no surprise that its participants are extremely risk-savvy and very concerned about their safety. Risk is not the same as recklessness, and we are not reckless people.

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Those with open minds will understand that the not uncommon public perception of adventure athletes as thrill-seeking adrenaline junkies whose idea of fun is to cheat death is a myth, and it's a profoundly harmful one. No one stands on the edge of a cliff without feeling an unpleasant surge of fear. That fear helps us take care: it's the triple-checking of equipment, it's the willingness to back away when the conditions aren't good enough, it makes us evaluate ourselves and our environment with great care and ensures that we do our homework. The shaking, stomach-churning, sweating, prickly-skinned feeling that comes with adrenaline is profoundly unpleasant and would never be a sensation one would seek. It should be equally obvious that fear and adrenaline disappear as concentration and focus are brought to bear once you commit yourself to stepping over the edge. Far from 'thrill-seeking', flying on outstretched arms is amazing and profoundly beautiful, and for those who do so it brings a dream to life - it's a staggeringly wondrous thing to do. It takes a lot of learning, practice, dedication and focus. We start from zero and apply ourselves to a long apprenticeship. To fly requires an ability to confront and push through the fear and adrenaline, to go past them in order to reach what lies beyond. To find the drive takes passion. 

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Risk means different things for different people, but we see, over and over again, that those who take careful, considered risks - of any kind - tend to become not just more capable, but happier, more fulfilled, more satisfied people. The dangers of risking too much is obvious; the hazards of risking too little are far less visible. The world has more wonder and love for those whose passion drives them beyond their fears.

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I have often been told that I'm mad for engaging in the activities I do. To me, madness is not finding and doing what you love. And I believe that when you stop taking risks, you lose an elemental part of the potential of living.

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There is freedom waiting for you

on the breezes of the sky

and you ask, "what if I fall?"

Oh but my darling,

what if you fly?

 

- Erin Hanson

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