They say, “every picture tells a story,” and I had a clear vision of the story I wanted this book’s cover to tell. But when the idea first came to me, I didn’t know whether I could actually pull it off.
A guy in free fall may seem a weird choice for the cover of a book about chronic illness, but let me tell you why it isn’t.
I had a lifelong dream of becoming a skydiver. I got a handful of jumps as a young man, then a lot of life got in the way, and I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis close to 20 years ago. I never lost the call of the blue skies, but as my body started failing me, I gave up on this lifelong dream.
My life had hit bottom and I despaired of ever finding a way to build a life I wanted against MS. But I determined to find a way to live something better, including giving skydiving a serious shot. Even though I live with chronic pain. Even though I live with chronic fatigue. Even though I have difficulty feeling and controlling my legs. And even though I live with the ongoing challenges and indignities of an endless parade of random neurological weirdnesses others never see.
I spent a year-and-a-half logging over 500 jumps, progressing through the licensing levels in the sport, and even earning a coach rating along the way.
Skydiving is challenging enough, as it is. Doing it safely and successfully with a compromised central nervous system adds another layer of complexity. I have to work harder and more creatively. I have to adapt in ways I never anticipated and don’t want. But joy lives over the edge of fear.
This cover shot wasn’t easy.
I shot it with no helmet in street clothes so that I looked like an ordinary guy in an extraordinary situation — and there could be no doubt it was me.
It took many jumps over six weeks to realize the picture I had imagined. The weather conditions had to be just right. The right kind of clouds had to be at the right altitude for the proper look. And then, to get the lighting right and the sun in position, it had to be on the sunset load. Even if the conditions were right, we’d still only get one chance that day during the magic hour.
For that shot, everything had to be perfect in the one split second at terminal velocity I needed us to capture for the book cover.
I had to hit my mark, correctly oriented with the sun over my shoulder, and time my gesture at the right distance from the cloud layer. My cameraman had to match my fall rate, nail the right distance and focus, and frame the shot correctly. We had to do all of this together, hurtling toward Earth at terminal velocity.
That is, I think, a lot to ask just for the cover of a book. But I needed the picture to tell a very particular story that captures the book’s message.
This image freezes an urgent instant in time. I’m plummeting 120 miles an hour at five thousand feet above the Earth. That’s 27 seconds from impact. The gesture I’m giving is my “wave off.” It’s a universal signal in skydiving warning everyone in my airspace that I’m about to take action to save myself by deploying my parachute. I’ve taken myself to my Edge and I’m retuning myself to safety. I am affirming life in the face of certain tragedy.
That is the book’s message: I show you how to use decades of behavioral and social science to confront The Edge chronic health issues have pushed you to, and to build a good life on the other side.
The Edge is the limit of what you can deliver in each moment. When we’re “sick,” we’re driven to protect ourselves, to diminish ourselves, to pull back from life out of fear over how our bodies will betray us. Those limits are real, but we’re still capable of living better than we fear. We just need personal strategies and a bit of support.
Skydiving is about confronting The Edge. Life with a chronic health condition forces us to confront edges all the time. Edges that we don’t expect, don’t want to face, and would otherwise never be an issue. Edges that are physical, mental, emotional, and in our relationships.
Skydiving is a vivid metaphor in the book. Even if you’ve never been on a skydive, most people have formed opinions about it. Fear of heights is a primal threat and jumping from a plane is, for most, an obvious Edge experience. When you’re diagnosed, it feels like the bottom has dropped out of your world. Your life is in free fall. It feels like nothing will be good or right or valuable about your life again. You feel out of control and at the mercy of overwhelming forces.
Every new skydiver must work through the palpable fear of the “door monster.” We must learn that the joy we desire is on the other side of the terror that must be navigated. We must carefully build our capacities to save ourselves in any circumstance. The same is true with a chronic illness. The thing we fear most is in our bodies with us. We must work through that fear to get to the joyful experiences life still offers.
A little part of this book is my story, but most of it is the story of how you can still achieve your dreams, too. Even though you live with pain. Even though you live with fatigue. Even though you live with daily threats and indignities you never asked for. Even though you carry the scariest thing in your world with you in your body.
Now, I’m proud that I can say, “I am a skydiver.” And I’m looking forward to showing you the science and practice of living your life well.