Why I jump out of planes

The first time I jumped, I didn't think I was brave. I thought I was running a small, controlled experiment on my own attention.

On the ground, I'm always thinking about three things at once. Client work. The next move for Blue Horizon Labs. Whatever sentence I'm trying to finish. Skydiving doesn't allow that. The plane climbs, the door opens, and the entire menu collapses to one item: the next sixty seconds.

That focus is the part I keep coming back for. Not the adrenaline. Not the view, although the view is genuinely absurd. The focus.

Most of the work I do for operators is about helping them rebuild that same kind of focus inside a business. When a company has been running for ten or fifteen years, attention gets diffused. Every meeting matters a little. Every priority matters a little. Nothing matters a lot. The diagnostic work we do at BHL is, in a sense, a forced exit from the plane. You strap in, you commit, and then you find out what you actually do when there is only one thing to do.

I jump because it reminds me what clarity feels like. So I can recognize it when a client finally finds it again.