The World Economy is in Freefall, So We Went Indoor Skydiving.

Inflation’s climbing, democracy’s wobbling, and I just spent our hard-earned money to throw my family into a wind tunnel.

Was it logical? No.
Was it a wise financial decision? Also no.
Was it the adventure we needed? Almost.

Then we came home, watched the videos of our ragdoll-like flights, laughed a bunch—and jumped on a plane for a four-day trip to Berlin.

Okay, technically it was our kid’s spring break, so we didn’t do this entirely at random. But there was a method to the madness:

For the past two years, I’ve been willingly paying my amazing coach to make me do the thing I spent my first fifty years avoiding—exercise.
Not because I want abs—at this point, that ship has sailed.
But because I have kids. And I want to be there for them.

I train, essentially, because I want to live.
I train so I can say yes to the things that really matter.
I train so I can wrestle with my boys, race them up the stairs (and maybe even win for a bit longer).

But mostly, I train so I can make memories with my family that don’t revolve around surviving another news cycle.

Because let’s be honest: the world feels like it’s falling apart.

The headlines are grim.
The economy’s twitching like it’s in its death rattle.
And the general vibe out there is… apocalypse soon.

The temptation is to hibernate. Shrink. Wait it out.
Maybe pick up a hobby like… doomsday prepping?

But here’s our new family rule:
When everything feels unstable—make the memory anyway.

So last week, we went indoor skydiving.
That’s right—paid good money to be thrown into a vertical wind tunnel, wearing a baggy flight suit, looking like a flying squirrel with trust issues.

Our kids screamed with delight.
My wife soared and looked angelic.
I nearly threw up from spinning mid-air. But I did it.

I did it because I could.
I said yes.
And it was perfect.

Then we came home and flew to Berlin. For four days. To see a band we love—Twenty One Pilots—perform live.

Was it responsible? I mean... define “responsible.”
But we laughed. We danced. We sang at the top of our lungs together, as a family.
We even stayed up too late and ate sausages at weird hours while working incredibly hard to not get adjusted to the timezone.

And in the middle of all that chaos out there—we felt alive.

Here’s what I’m learning:

Joy is not a reward for when the world settles down.
Joy is resistance.
Joy is choosing presence over panic.
Joy is saying, “I see the storm, and I’m going to dance anyway.”

You don’t have to indoor skydive.
You don’t have to fly across the world on a whim.

But you can say yes to whimsy.
You can stop waiting for things to calm down before you live.

Make the memory now.
Make it weird.
Make it yours.

Because the world may be in freefall…
But you? You can still fly.