Freefall.

The word itself sounds liberating, doesn't it? And when Tom Petty belts it out, there's a sense of effortlessness, an almost contagious freedom. But experiencing it — genuinely letting go — is something else entirely. It's both terrifying and exhilarating, much like the act of faith itself.

The Decision to Jump

Throughout my life, I've faced moments that forced me to examine what I was holding onto and whether it was worth the grip.

Turning 40 felt like one of those moments. Not because 40 is an ending — it isn't. But because it is a threshold. A place where you can look back at everything you've carried and ask: what do I want to take with me into the next chapter? And what am I ready to release?

I decided to mark the occasion by actually jumping out of a plane. Because sometimes the metaphor needs to become literal.

What Freefall Feels Like

Here is what I can tell you about freefall: the anticipation is worse than the fall.

Standing at the edge of the plane door, looking down at the earth from 15,000 feet, every instinct in your body is screaming that this is wrong. That you should step back. That the ground is very far away and you are very small and this is a terrible idea.

And then you jump. And the fear doesn't disappear — but it transforms. It becomes something else. Something that feels, surprisingly, like freedom.

The Parallel to Faith

I have been thinking about this in relation to faith. The moments in my life when I have been asked to trust — really trust — have felt like standing at that door. Every instinct says: hold on. Stay safe. Don't let go.

But faith, at its core, is a freefall. It is the decision to release your grip on the things you cannot control and trust that you will be held.

I have not always done this gracefully. I have white-knuckled my way through seasons that called for open hands. I have tried to manage outcomes that were never mine to manage.

But I am learning. Slowly, imperfectly, I am learning to let go.

What Forty Looks Like

Forty looks like clarity. It looks like knowing, more than I did at twenty or thirty, what actually matters and what I was holding onto out of habit or fear.

It looks like less performance and more presence. Less managing my image and more living my values. Less trying to control the freefall and more trusting the One who holds me in it.

It looks, honestly, like freedom.

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Dr. Rebekah C. Lloyd is a U.S. Army combat veteran, solo adoptive mother, and author who writes about faith, resilience, and the intersection of personal and professional growth.