The first time I jumped out of a plane, there was a moment when the world went completely silent.
No expectations.
No roles.
No labels.
Just sky.
And me.
Mid-air, I remember thinking, What kind of person does this?
Apparently, I do. Apparently I do - with my sister. and on parent's wedding anniversary no less.. Which means if anything had gone wrong that day, they would have lost their daughters on a date, that carried a meaning.
The thought hits differently when you say it out loud and now.
It hits even differently now - when both of them have passed.
But that is the thing about courage, it doesn't always arrive wrapped in perfect timing.
and if asked the younger version of me — the Brown girl raised to be sensible, responsible, composed — she would not have described herself as someone who voluntarily leaps into open air.
And yet.
Skydiving happened.
Jumping off the top floor of a boat in the Caribbean happened. I believe it was Grand Cayman, but the exact island feels less important than the sharp inhale before the jump, stepping back almost 3 times, and then finally taking the plunge and the laughter that followed when I surfaced.
Kayaking in Slovenia happened - in a country I had only been in for a week - with total strangers for half a day.
Going a two day trip in Slovenia, with someone from India, I barely knew happened. We had only messaged a few times. A small, temporary Indian community in Slovenia trying to find familiarity in foreign land. I told myself, it was safe, because his mother would be joining us for the trip to Lake Bled and Lake Bohinj..What a memorable trip it was..
Even that logic makes me smile now and yes, aunty made some amazing comfort food for all of us.
Getting lost in Slovenia, alone in my car, in the middle of the night in the pre-Google Maps era happened. Reversing out of what felt like a mile-long tunnel because it was a dead end, with a live train above me, and I had no idea where I was going happened.
And somehow, I always made it back.
But the bravest moment of my life was not for thrill.
It was on a direct flight from Kraków to Dallas.
We were over water when it started.
First, a strange noise. Subtle, but wrong.
Then the shaking.
Not turbulence. Mechanical. Intentional.
I watched an air hostess — calm until that second — suddenly run toward a window, her face no longer neutral. That was when my stomach dropped.
Then the announcement.
“We have lost an engine. We need to attempt an emergency landing. We are trying for Heathrow.”
Lost an engine.
Over water.
The cabin did not scream. It tightened.
20 minutes later, another announcement.
“We will not make it to Heathrow. We are diverting to Glasgow, Scotland.”
That was when it became real.
This was not inconvenience.
This was survival.
I quietly texted my sister and my mother.
I love you. Hoping when they find the phone, they will know..
Just in case.
And then, suspended between fear and fate, I made myself a promise.
If I survive this, I will come back here one day.
Not like this.
Not in emergency.
But to truly see this beautiful country.
I have not gone back yet.
But the promise still lives inside me.
And here is what surprises me even now.
I looked out of the window.
Scotland from above was breathtaking. Vast green stillness, completely unaware of the drama unfolding in the sky above it.
Even in fear, I was observing beauty.
Even in uncertainty, I was planning a future.
Even in possible ending, I was choosing continuation.
Who does that?
Apparently, I do.
Some of my “can’t believe I did that” moments are dramatic.
Others are quieter.
Spending my 40th birthday at a surprise celebration in Vegas, surrounded by some of my closest friends, who came across the country to celebrate with me, some I hadn't seen in years..
Staying eighteen years in the same company and refusing to stay stagnant. Moving from marketing to sales to business development. Leading engineering, the same team, where I had first start working as a product engineer. Building a foresight startup team within the global business. Reinventing without resigning.
Founding FixTogether.
Starting something with a vision that existed more in conviction than in proof.
We had customer data.
We had end-user insights.
We had testing.
and we had a passionate team of 5 volunteers who believed in my pitch, in my vision and my story, and we also had a fantastic team of 8 Behavior Change Marketing Specialist who believed in me, in my idea and my vision and wanted to help us grow it further.
What we did not have was the perspective of a professional repair technician.
And that was not a small gap.
So I went looking.
I found a repair expert online who had made countless technical videos. Hair dryers, appliances, intricate breakdowns. He had presence. Charisma. Authority.
Most of his content was in Slovene.
I had lived in Slovenia for almost five months once. Long enough to feel connected. Not long enough to feel fluent.
I later learned he was a celebrity. A television personality. A MasterChef winner. Famous.
And I still wrote him a long message on Facebook.
Not casual. Not apologetic.
A thoughtful explanation of what we were building and why it mattered.
Fully aware he might never respond.
Two days later, he did.
What was supposed to be a thirty-minute introduction call became a three-hour conversation. It felt less like networking and more like alignment.
He became our advisor.
He trained our team.
He helped us see what we could not see alone.
Who sends a bold message to a famous repair expert in another country and assumes they belong in the conversation?
Apparently, I do.
And that realization has been unfolding slowly inside me.
I take solo vacations.
I celebrate failures.
I have fallen in love with resin, mixed media, and paint pouring and built an artistic community of nearly a thousand followers.
I have mastered tools that once intimidated me. I have initiated conversations with futurists and experts across industries simply because I was curious.
I stopped waiting for permission.
And here is the deeper truth.
None of this happened because I was fearless.
It happened because I was taught there is always a way.
My parents did not raise me to quit. They did not dramatize obstacles. They modeled resilience quietly. When something felt impossible, the response was never “It cannot be done.”
It was, “There must be a way.”
That belief becomes oxygen.
Especially for Brown women navigating identity shifts.
We are often taught to be agreeable before we are taught to be audacious. To preserve stability before we pursue expansion. To shrink slightly so everyone else feels comfortable.
Midlife rediscovery can feel like rebellion.
But what if it is evolution?
What if boldness is not defiance, but alignment?
When I look at my life through the lens of “I cannot believe I did that,” I do not see recklessness.
I see evidence.
Evidence that I can survive fear.
Evidence that I can build without guarantees.
Evidence that I can pivot, stretch, expand.
Evidence that I can text “I love you” in case of ending and still plan my return.
Taking a seat at the table does not always mean you were invited.
Sometimes it means you stopped asking whether you deserved to sit there.
So here is my invitation to you.
Take the risk.
Be bold.
Stop asking for permission.
Create your own brave movements.
Trust your evolution.
Stop shrinking.
Find your identity again and again and again.
Collect moments that make you say, “I cannot believe I did that.”
Because one day, you will look back and realize you did not just live safely.
You lived expansively.
And that is a life worth believing in.
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