Throwing Ourselves Off a Mountain for Christmas (A Totally Normal Family Travel Activity)

When we decided to spend a year traveling the world, we agreed that experiences—not stuff—would be our gifts. So when Christmas rolled around in New Zealand, we skipped the wrapping paper and gave the family a day of adrenaline in Queenstown, aka the Adventure Capital of the Southern Hemisphere (probably the world, but let’s not start a fight).

The kids—our then 12-year-old twins—were dead set on skydiving during our year of family travel. Apparently, New Zealand is one of the few places where 12-year-olds can legally plummet from the sky. But after learning that at their age they’d be limited on freefall time and height, they pivoted to paragliding. Still very much flinging yourself off a mountain, just slightly more... floaty.

They were beyond pumped. Ash (my husband) was also all in, as he always is when something involves harnesses and risk. Me? Not so much.

I wasn’t scared for myself—I had already done the whole skydiving thing once and lived to tell the tale. And Ash jumping off cliffs is practically a Tuesday around here. But watching my children sail off the edge of a mountain? That was new. That was nightmare fuel. That was me internally screaming while trying to smile supportively.

But this trip was about saying yes, leaning into adventure, and trusting the process (even when that process includes a running leap into open air). So I zipped up my bravery and went with it.

We drove up to the launch site, where we met our “jumping buddies” (highly trained professionals with great senses of humor, thank goodness). They suited us up, clipped us into what looked like glorified lawn chairs with wings, and before I had time to overthink it, people started taking off.

I watched Lila run off the edge first, her small frame disappearing into the sky with a giant grin on her face—and I swear my heart stopped for a second. But she was laughing. She loved it. And just like that, I exhaled.

The views? Absolutely jaw-dropping. We soared above Lake Wakatipu, with Queenstown nestled beside it and the dramatic peaks of The Remarkables standing tall in the distance. It was that kind of beauty that makes you forget you're dangling from nylon several thousand feet above the ground.

The kids and Ash went for the full experience—twists, turns, spirals. I passed on the aerial acrobatics (someone had to remain somewhat sane), but even without the tricks, it was pure magic. Peaceful and wild all at once.

We all landed upright, limbs intact, and adrenaline buzzing. No Christmas wrapping required—just memories, a few shaky legs, and a lot of high fives.

Would I do it again? Maybe. Would I watch my kids run off a mountain again? Let’s just say I’ll need a snack and a deep breath first.