Ever since I was a young boy, I've been intrigued by heights. All of us, every human on this Earth, experience this same fascination. Some of us call it a fear, or phobia if you will, of heights. But others, us more adventurous types, feed off of these head-spinning, foot-tingling sensations induced by being suspended hundreds, even thousands of feet in the air. Many of us ride roller coasters to experience this rush of endorphins, and others of us seek out these adventures in more unconventional ways, whether it be leaping out of planes or scaling rock faces. \tThe first inklings of the feeling that I was a bit different surfaced when I began catching myself, ever so increasingly, gazing up at the top of radio towers and musing, “My god… what must it be like to be way up there? Held aloft in the sky by a seemingly rickety, spaghetti thin structure hundreds of feet high…†These harmless dreams quickly evolved into an addiction. My first experience was a water tower just shy of 100 feet tall. My friend and I stood staring up at the bulbous sphere atop its spindly legs, gleaming in the moonlight. The ladder beckoned to us. It was cold. It was coated in dew. But we didn't care. The adrenaline was surging through my veins as we ascended nearer and nearer to the top, my hands dangerously sweaty, and my feet precariously slippery on the wet rungs. As I hoisted myself off the ladder and onto the platform, a wave of relief flooded my senses. I slowly rose on the platform, careful to not throw off my balance, and was awestricken by what I saw. The water tower, conveniently situated at the peak of a hill, provided an unbelievable view. The lights of the city twinkled in the distance, reflected by the river running adjacent. Helicopters and airplanes streaked the sky with their blinking lights, as the dotted starry sky hovered above. \tThis obsession evolved. It transformed. I soon found myself equipped with a rock climbing harness, clipped to a small radio tower, taking a breather – 350 feet above the ground. For better or for worse, this became natural. Leaning out over the moonlit ground far below, suspended by only my feet and a tether attached to my waist became a routine, a habit. It was how I spent my weekends, and even weeknights when I snuck out. This sensation became my drug. I found myself staring at every radio tower around the city, crafting my plan of attack. I must have climbed most of them. Hell, I must have climbed at least 50 in those years. Shortly before graduating high school, as the air was warmed by the encroaching spring, I reached what I thought was the ultimate venture. I found myself atop the tallest radio tower in the city, sitting with my feet crossed and my back against the hard steel of the tower, taking in the view from a dizzying height of 1,086 feet. I'm not sure how long I was up there, but I could have enjoyed that moment for eternity. \tToday, this addiction stays with me. It's a bit different now, but it's there. I have since discarded the old rock climbing harness, for I am now brave enough to climb unassisted. Instead of scaling my way back down these rickety steel giants, I find myself stepping off the edge – into the abyss – as the sun comes up on the horizon. As my foot leaves the edge, it's like stepping into a dream. Comparable to stepping into Alice and Wonderland, I'd say. There's only one word to describe it, and yet it is one we are most familiar with – happiness. For a split second, it's like floating. But then, the ground begins to rush up at an unimaginable speed. The silence fades away, replaced by the roar of the wind rushing past my ears. I enjoy my time of bliss for only a few seconds; enough to count on my fingers. It is simply my body, and the air. But inevitably, the time to awaken from this dream arrives. I reach down to my lower back where my rock climbing harness used to faithfully reside, and tug. My chute quickly unfurls and slams me to a sudden stop. I gently float towards the ground as the morning sun stares me in the face as I dangle, still a couple hundred feet high, from my parachute. The adrenaline surges through my body. I am awake. I am alive. This is my life. This is B.A.S.E. jumping.