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There’s something about taking a shot of peppermint schnapps while in the back of a rickety gondola hovering 134 meters over a lake in the Swiss Alps that sticks in your memory. Maybe it’s the jarring flavor of candy canes soaked in rubbing alcohol, or the knowledge that in a few minutes you’ll be free falling out of that rickety gondola with a mere bungee cord meant to keep you from plummeting face-first into that ice-cold lake, but who can say for sure. All I know is that the moments leading up to my first bungee-jumping experience have been vividly seared in my memory, so much so that when I think back I can actually taste the crispness of the air in that hidden pocket of perfection in the Swiss mountains, a taste arguably much more enjoyable than the peppermint schnapps (though I can still taste that too). Just as vivid is the uncontrollable shaking that possessed my body as I inched to the edge of that swinging gondola to peer down and get a good look at my impending doom. As far as doom goes though, it was one the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. There was something otherworldly and ethereal about that little slice of Switzerland; even in the depths of summer, up in those mountains there was a bite to the air and hints of snow lingering on the edges of the aqua-blue lake, framed by a green so vibrant even Ireland would be jealous. Though stunning, the views from so high up did little to comfort the mild terror that was building. As someone who is very much afraid of heights, I have a strong and contradictory love of the adrenaline that comes from falling from high places. In the seconds before I somehow managed to coerce my traitorously trembling body into jumping, I was convinced that I had made the biggest mistake of my life. In the seconds after I jumped, I was convinced that I had to do it again. Imagine that brief moment after Wile E. Coyote has unintentionally raced off a cliff and is suspended in midair with just enough time to blink and think “oh shit” before falling; that’s what that first split second after jumping felt like. Then came the most incredible, indescribable feeling of exhilaration. I wasn’t falling, I was gliding, and though I certainly can’t say I know how it feels to fly, I can imagine it's just as intoxicating. Somehow time stood still, and even now if I close my eyes I can find myself in that moment all over again, suspended in time in an emerald and frost covered paradise, free from intrusion from the outside world, soaring not falling.