Let's take you through it. I've been skydiving for 10 years, trained over 1,000 students, and flown all over the world—from snowy Alaskan peaks to the golden coastlines of Australia.

I've even competed and broken four skydiving records. But when people ask me: "What does skydiving feel like?"—it's still tough to answer.

So today, I'll try my best to describe it.

What does skydiving actually feel like?

It's not just the thrill or fear that people expect. Strangely, skydiving can be peaceful. Right after you leave the plane, it's pure adrenaline—wind blasting, heart racing, mind wide open. But once the parachute opens, something shifts.

You float.

You look down at the earth from high above, and many of my friends say it's like standing at heaven's gate. That quietness—just you, the sky, and the wide, wide world—brings an inner calm you wouldn't expect. It's not about chaos or screaming—it's about clarity and freedom.

Some people jump once just to tick it off their bucket list. Others, like me, fall in love and never want to stop. I've chased this feeling across continents, trained to teach it, and even taken it to the extreme with wingsuit flying and low-altitude jumps. No matter how you approach it, jumping out of a plane leaves a permanent mark on your soul.

Skydiving isn't just a sport—it's a way of looking at life

I've jumped over the Great Barrier Reef in Australia, flown above Brazil's Christ the Redeemer statue, and even soared over the Eiffel Tower in France. Every skydive gives me a new way to see the world—literally.

From 10,000 feet, everything below looks tiny, and your problems do too. It's hard to be overwhelmed by emails and deadlines when you're flying over giraffes in Africa or seeing the Pacific's sapphire waters stretch endlessly below.

This isn't just a sport. It's about conquering fear, living fully, and trusting yourself. For me, it's also been about turning a dream into something real.

Ten years, 1,785 jumps, and still counting

After 10 years in the air and 5 years teaching, I've seen it all. People often ask:

Isn't it scary?

Not really. It's just stepping out of a plane going 200 mph. That's it.

Is it fun?

Absolutely. I've been part of formations where hundreds of us create massive "flowers" midair. We dance in the sky—literally.

Is it dangerous?

Actually, statistically, it's safer than driving.

Still, every time I jump, I remember why I started. I used to watch birds and wonder what it felt like to fly. People would say, "That's impossible. Humans can't fly." But they were wrong.

I proved we can.

My mom's handwriting on my helmet

I still remember the day my mom came to visit me in the U.S. I was so excited to show her my wingsuit and videos of my jumps and records. I thought she'd be proud and thrilled. And she was—but I could also see the fear in her eyes. The way parents worry silently even when they're smiling.

I asked her to write something on my new skydiving helmet. I expected her to write something epic, like "Soar High" or "Pride of China." But she just wrote three simple words: "Come back safe."

That's what stuck with me. Every time I gear up, I think about her careful handwriting, each touch full of quiet love. It reminds me that even when we chase the skies, we should stay grounded in love and family.

The sunset, the silence, the peace

People often ask me about my first jump. Honestly, what I remember most isn't the fall—it's the view.

The sun was dipping below the horizon, everything was painted in orange and gold. I wasn't thinking about tricks or stunts—I was just there, floating, soaking in the moment.

And when I landed, pizza and wings were waiting at the drop zone, the tap light was on, and my friends were blasting punk music, laughing under the stars.

It was one of the happiest, most peaceful days of my life.