You peer over the edge. It looked a lot smaller from down below. Locals give you side-eye and occasionally chide you as they casually throw flips off into the abyss, they've been coming here for years. Kids are hooting and hollering, friends huddle in groups, peer pressuring and teasing one another into making the leap. You put some GPS coordinates into your phone and drove all the way out here, you have to make the jump. Heart pounding in your ears, you double check your in run once more, glancing nervously at your companions, hoping it won't be your last moments together. The tension and trepidation in the air is tangible, there is an almost primal feeling to it, like animals gathered around an ancient oasis. You gather your wits, take a moment, and step off into the unknown. Pure silence, followed by a humongous crash, and silence once again, at this point you've probably survived. Up you come to the surface, accolades and cheers surround you. Another successful jump. These cliffs, ledges, trees, swings, docks, swimming holes, and secret spots unite disparate groups in search of their next adventure. It is at these special places that we let ourselves go, fighting against and succumbing to gravity, attempting time and time again to thwart it, young and old we all act the same age.