Skydiving is back on the table

Eight years ago, I decided not to go skydiving: I didn't mind the prospect of dying exactly, but I didn't want to injure myself and become more of a burden.

But then two things happened:

1. George H.W. Bush died, and newspapers ran the photo of him skydiving as he did when he turned 80, 85 and 90. I figured if he could do it, I could. Then last week, 
2. My head-shrinker asked what I had planned for 2019. I got nothing planned. So I blurted out skydiving.  She thought it was a great idea. Her initial response was, oh yeah, where?

I then had to explain my eight-year-old reasoning. She shrugged it off. You could break your leg today, she said. Of course, she's right there.

Then she told me not to engage in "What ifs."

I responded that I love "What ifs." It was always a favorite comic book.

But now I am trying to ignore "What if" and considering skydiving again.