The Falcon on the Freeway
Skydiving, Autobahns, and the Case for Unregulated Wonder
Some things, I remember—exactly.
The paperwork we signed, confirming our estates wouldn’t sue if we died.
The slow, stomach-turning, 45-degree ascent beyond the clouds.
12,000 feet on the altimeter fastened to my hand.
The sudden scream of air as the cabin door snapped open—Go! Go! Go!
Scooting into place with my tandem instructor, our dual harness locked tight.
One. Two. Three. Eyes open.
Out we rolled.
A somersault—I saw the plane flying.
Another—my friend and his instructor now in the air too.
A third—I fixated on the earth below.
Then I assumed the formation from training: spread eagle.
We were falling.
Fast. Instantaneously.
Was I still breathing?
I almost couldn’t think.
Goggles trembling. Clothes rippling.
My freefall—undeniable, unforgettable.
Then came my instructor’s shout:
“That dark spot on the cloud? That’s our shadow! We’re gonna fall right through it!”
And we did.
The cloud was cold and damp.
Inside, bright white was all I could see.
I wanted to pull my own chute, but then—
Almost whiplash.
Like some unseen giant had yanked us back up by a string.
We were still falling, so much slower.
My instructor had pulled our chute.
We began to float.
He laughed and pointed to landmarks.
Disney World, off in the distance.
To me, a children’s dreamland.
Mickey. Goofy. Donald.
I looked around—everything open and free.
At the time, I didn’t think about life as a bird.
But now, looking back, I can reimagine the entire experience.
This might be what it’s sort of like being a hawk or an eagle—
Soaring. Observing. Choosing your own path from above.
No limits. No laws. No regulations.
Just air. Instinct. Freedom.
Sure—they have bird brains.
But isn’t it interesting that we can imagine life from their vantage point?
What would life be like if we were human-thinking birds?
I was falling somewhere between 110 and 135 miles per hour.
And yet—some birds are even faster:
🦅 White-throated Needletail Swift: 105 mph
🦅 Golden Eagle: 150+ mph
🦅 Peregrine Falcon: a screaming 185+ mph
These are the Top Gun pilots of the sky.
Maybe that’s why we say someone “flew by” on the freeway.
Subconsciously, we have bird envy.
Sometimes I wish we had an Autobahn in the United States.
Let me be a falcon on wheels.
Let the laws—fall away.
But what if the opposite were true?
What if birds had our speed traps in the sky?
A sky-patrol of watchful owls and sharp-eyed kestrels pulling over reckless ravens and overconfident hawks:
“License and feather, please.”
It’s ridiculous, I know.
But isn’t that the point?
If I’m in full control of my vehicle, using good judgment as a reasonable adult,
why am I still subject to getting a ticket?
Is it possible that too many rules and regulations can unfairly weigh down our wings? If I’m in full control of my life without causing harm to anyone else, to what extent should I be allowed to be free as a bird? We need critical laws to ensure public safety, to handle violence and theft, of course—but do we sometimes over-regulate when it comes to personal choice?
Yes, I’m thinking about “Harrison Bergeron” by Kurt Vonnegut.
Can we allow ourselves and each other to fly beyond self-diminishing precedents—to rise above things that hold us down?
Isn’t it worthwhile to think about life beyond our own experience?
To imagine the world from another point of view?
To take it all in from a bird’s-eye view?
At least figuratively, we can fly together—without ever jumping from a plane.
In reality, I was coming down fast.
My instructor shouted: “Land like a chair!”
We pulled the cords forward—my knees up, his feet out.
We hit the ground together.
Ran a few steps.
The chute dragged behind us, then we stopped.
We were grounded.
Safe. Ecstatic.
And I would never jump again.
I’m married now, with children.
I don’t risk my life anymore.
Too much to lose.
But I still like to fantasize—to dream.
And I hope to always land well in new places.
We’re not the only life forms on this planet.
But we can imagine—from any perceived vantage point.
In our thoughts, we can fly without ever leaving the ground.
Right now, I’m imagining the lived experience of birds.
And if you’re so inclined, let me know:
If you could be completely free—what would you change, and why?
I so appreciate your time and attention. As always, if this made you laugh, think, smile, or sigh, please consider adding a like, restacking, or sharing. Thank you for reading my work!
When I was a kid, I wished I could fly. It was either that or be invisible and play jokes on people. I got the invisible part down but not quite the other half.
Beautiful. It’s wild how you connected freefall with freedom of thought. Sometimes the scariest leaps give us the clearest views.