I needed a hard reset of my life. My circumstances, iPhone, and Netflix had sedated me into a comatose existence. Didn’t I use to push myself out of daily monotony by seeking out new places? My honeymoon to New Zealand became a whistling opportunity train I couldn’t ignore. Hadn’t I read on some blog that Queenstown is a year-round adrenaline junkie’s paradise where people swung themselves across Shotover Canyon with nothing but a rope keeping them from plummeting to their dooms? It is, and I must do it. My life consisted of being a sunlight hissing, gym avoiding, and unsatisfied graduate student. The closest I got to adrenaline rushes were when lectures finished early. Skimming travel blogs and “Top 10” lists substituted for actually traveling. I booked the canyon swing after this reset urgency struck following a particularly miserable day. Excitement coursed through me as I learned I would jump off a 360-foot high cliff (nearly 2.5 commercial airplanes), free fall 200 feet, then swing 660 feet across the canyon. It would be our first activity post-arrival. My spouse and I are driven to the middle of nowhere from the heart of mountainous Queenstown. There is neither swing nor canyon in sight. An unassuming tree-covered dirt path lies ahead decorated with Smurfs converted into Halloween-esque creatures. “Is this an omen?”, I not-so-jokingly ask my spouse. The path is long enough to believe we’d been abandoned to nature until it widens ending at the canyon’s precipice. The guides shove us lemmings onto a platform that questionably hugs the canyon’s edge. Carefree and blessed with nine lives, they share a five-second safety presentation (seriously where was I when this happened?) before wedging me into a harness. Strangers get to know each other well under these circumstances. Awkward jokes and comments fill the air. One couple share their plans for kids. Another man declares victory over cancer. A camaraderie forms as we watch our members jump off the platform. We cheer as the swinger’s shouts of glee and terror (GleerorTM) echoes around the canyon. Congratulatory pats await the conquering hero upon landing. Suddenly, it’s my turn. The guides provide us with an extensive list of “liftoff modes”. Did I want to jump face-first? Backwards? Why not strap myself to a chair and push? I could hang from a questionably secure hook out over the expanse and let go. Many of my club opt to jump forward. I mentally regress and opt to ride on a playground slide into glory. The employees comfort me with questions about my honeymoon as they prepare. This was their fiendish scam. A deception before they strike like cobras pushing me off the ledge. The shock blinds me momentarily, but then my senses are assailed by the wind’s cold biting my face, the river roaring in my ears, and the harness causing a wedgie. I can’t feel the rope’s tension, so I experience grief’s five stages, commend my bravery, and prepare to tell my ancestors about it in the fast-approaching afterlife. “SNAP!”, I hurtle in a swing-like arc across the canyon. I release my breath and experience pure glee. Regrettably, the swinging slows and I dangle like an overweight spider on its web telepathically apologizing to the employees hauling me up. I’m overwhelmed with views of the cliffs, the grayish-blue river, and the gorgeous larch trees yellowed by winter. I treasure each sensation as my arms and legs float on the wind’s current. This is what letting go feels like. The employees record all swings, and I watch mine. I’m pleasantly surprised to discover I’d been laughing the whole swing. I needed this. It’s like a shot of epinephrine to my heart. I am triggered. I transform from passively traveling into ravenously seeking destinations that metaphorically and, sometimes literally, push me off a cliff. Should I try not drowning while rafting on the Colorado River? Do I challenge my balance in a hot air balloon sailing over Cappadocia? Perhaps I surround myself with slower swimmers and dive with sharks at the Great Barrier Reef. Inexperienced and clumsy, I am beyond ready to stumble through the next adventure. All that’s required of me is a leap into the unknown.