Last year, in the summer of 2021, I went on vacation with my family to Cinque Terre in Italy. On the first day of the trip, my family and I headed down to the beach, aching to escape the moist summer heat. Weaving through the mass of people, we searched for an empty rock to hold our belongings. As my brother and I walked towards the water, our eyes caught sight of dark figures falling into the ocean and splashing water in a million different directions. We quickly realized that the figures were people throwing themselves off of the cliff on the edge of the sea. My adventurous brother and I immediately decided that we wanted to do the same. The first step was to scale the rocks to jump off. Following my brother, I wrapped my hand around the cold, wet rock and pushed myself off the ground with my legs. To prevent my hands from shaking I gripped the rocks until my knuckles turned white. As I reached the top I could hear my heart pumping and the distant cries of encouragement. I watched my brother launch himself away from the rock, his muscles showing through his skin. I counted the seconds he fell through the air before finally hitting the sparkling water. When it was my turn I stepped to the edge and looked down into the crystal-clear Italian sea. I gathered every ounce of courage in my body and mimicked how my brother jumped. As soon as I left the ground I felt my heart stop and adrenaline flowing through my veins. The freedom from the fall lasted until I slammed into the cool, refreshing water. I aggressively kicked my way back to the surface, where I took a deep breath for the first time since jumping. A smile stretched across my face as I headed to do it again.