As I fell towards the highway, I realized I was going to die. "Shit, I'm going to die today," where my actual thoughts, I believe.

Facing the realization of one's own death can have a powerful effect. Everything changes. One's view on life changes. And how can it not? Surviving one's death means a second chance on life.

For me, this happened during my second sky dive. I had chosen to do an Accelerated Free Fall. In this method, two instructors jumped with me—one on each side. They helped me maintain a proper free fall position. When I pulled the parachute cord, they let go and fell away. The rest of the ride down was solo.

Unfortunately, the instructors had miscalculated our landing zone. We left the plane too late and overshot our jump window. A sudden change in winds also added to the fire.

Sucks, huh? This is definitely the worst place to be miscalculating anything.

As I descended, I noticed I wasn't heading towards the landing zone in airfield. I was being blown to the side. With my novice knowledge of parachute operations, I wasn't successful in maneuvering back on course.

When you reach 1000 feet in altitude, you're supposed to look down and know exactly where you want to land. This gives you enough time and momentum to steer towards your target.

At 1500 feet, I surveyed the ground beneath me. A long and hard concrete highway with lots of traffic. A two-story farm house. A parked bus. Power lines alongside the highway. Tall trees everywhere. A nice and flat farm in a distance. And a small patch of grass besides the highway.

There wasn't much I could safely land on. The highway seemed the most likely choice. A highway landing would mean death.

I weighed my options.

"Shit, I'm going to die today," I told myself. It was a sobering thought. "Do I want to die though? I'm ready for it. I've had a good life. I don't have many regrets."

"But… I don't really want to die. Not yet, not today. I might land with a broken body, but I'd rather do that than die."

"So what should I land on?"

"The farm? Can't. Too far away."

"The trees? Nah. Way too painful. If I landed in the trees, branches could get caught under my arms, or, worse—between my legs. And if that happened, my limbs could get dislocated or torn off."

"The bus? The house? No way. If I rolled off those structures, I'd crash into the ground and get hurt from a second impact."

"The highway and power lines? Well, that would mean either a flat or an extra-crispy death. No thank you."

By 1000 feet, I gambled on the small patch of grass.

When you land, you're supposed to turn into the wind to slow your decent. Unfortunately, I needed all of my momentum to just reach the patch. So without slowing down, I fell towards the earth at a rate of 10-15 mph.

The only thoughts now were how I could minimize bone breakage. "I'm going to break something in my body," I accepted.

"Should I land on my legs and break them both? Or maybe on my side and break just an arm and a leg? Which side should I sacrifice? Left? Right?"

Then the moment of truth came. I opted to life my legs up and land on my ass and back, hoping that the increased surface would minimize the impact's severity. This was a technique that beginners sometimes use, though usually at a slower speed.

My parachute grazed the power lines. For a second, I imagined getting caught on them. As long as I didn't touch the ground, I would be fine. But if I made ground contact, I would be fried.

A quick turn of my parachute toggle and I veered away.

Then I struck the ground.

The back of my spine screamed out in pain. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. I slid along the grass for a few feet. The parachute fell over me. I lay there for several minutes, feeling extreme pain from my lower back and legs.

Extreme pain. And it radiated throughout my limbs.

After a few minutes, I tried wiggled my toes. They wiggled. "Whew."

Then I reached down and felt my legs. Nothing major seemed wrong there either. No bones sticking out of the skin, no blood.

Then I touched my tailbone.

"Ouch!"

I slowly sat up and checked the rest of my clothes for blood. Fortunately, I didn't see any.

A few moments later, the pain dulled enough so that I could stand up and survey the area. I was arm's length away from the highway. From where I lay, I could reach out and touch concrete.

Cars were honking at me. One car pulled over and the kind driver offered a ride back to the landing zone. "You know, you missed the airfield," he said to me. Wise man.

Ryan White was his name. I'll never forget the guy. Not the guy with AIDS; he just happened to have the same name. This Ryan had a rusty old red pick-up truck. His wife and kid were in the front; the kid stared at me with wide astonished eyes. Probably his first time seeing a Chinese guy fall from the sky. I gathered up my chute and jumped into the back.

As we drove away, I marveled at what just happened. I had gone through dozens of scenarios of death, intense pain, and broken bones. And here I was, now sitting in a pick-up truck, alive and intact. Astonishing.

I later showed my landing site to a friend, an experienced sky diver. The patch of grass was small. Even experienced divers would have a hard time aiming for such a small target, he told me.

According to him, I would have certainly broken my legs had I landed on the house, bus, or trees. And a crash landing on the highway would have meant certain death.

And I was only an arm's length away from it. From death.

The realization and acceptance of possible death has profoundly changed the way I view life. I could be dead right now. But instead, I have this second chance at life.

I used to be terrified of public speaking. I still sort of am, but now, I just think back to how I could be dead right now, and the fear melts away a little. New experiences are a lot more exciting now. Problems aren't really problems, just challenging opportunities. Change is fun and exhilarating. Life is fun and exhilarating.

Ever play those computer role playing games? It was great how you could save your progress so when you died, you didn't have to start all over again. That's what all of this is for me. I loaded up a saved game and am playing it right now.

I even adopted a new motto after the incident: It's better to try and fail at something, than to walk away and regret never having tried it at all.

After all, I don't want to die (again) with any regrets.

. . .

Have you ever had a near-death experience?