When You Jump Out of a Plane, You Learn What You're Really Made Of

There's something about watching someone commit to something most people think is crazy that makes you reconsider what's possible in your own life.

Zach Cole sold his successful landscaping company last year. Not to retire. Not to start another business in the same industry. He sold it to become a full-time skydiving instructor at Paradise Valley Skydiving in Clarksville—betting everything he'd built on the belief that the worst day he's ever had skydiving is better than the best day he's had doing anything else.

Most people would call that reckless. I think it might be the sanest decision he's ever made.

The Crisis Nobody's Talking About

We don't talk enough about what happens to people in their late twenties and early thirties in places like Russellville. The script is pretty clear: find stable work, build something reliable, don't rock the boat. And for a lot of people, that works just fine.

But there's a growing number of folks—particularly young men—who are quietly struggling with something harder to name. According to a 2023 Pew Research study, nearly 40% of men under 35 report feeling their work lacks meaning or purpose, even when it pays well. The Arkansas Department of Health reported in their 2024 Behavioral Health Assessment that rates of depression and anxiety among working-age adults in rural counties have climbed 23% since 2019.

We've built lives that look good on paper but feel hollow in practice.

Zach's story isn't just about skydiving. It's about what happens when someone refuses to accept that hollow feeling as permanent.

The Eight-Day Hell Week That Changes Everything

When Zach talks about his AFF instructor course—the certification that allows him to teach first-time solo skydivers—he doesn't romanticize it.

"They find your weakness," he said, describing the eight-day gauntlet at West Tennessee Skydiving. "They prod at it. They break you. Every one of us cried at least once during that course."

He lost twenty pounds in a week.

The evaluators—including a former CIA operative and a high-ranking military officer—didn't just test his ability to skydive. They tested whether he could teach someone else to do it safely while falling at 120 miles per hour. They made him fly faster than comfortable, slower than natural, all while maintaining enough awareness to grab a panicking student and fix their body position mid-freefall.

"I need to be able to teach throughout fixing the skydive," Zach explained. "Not just save their life—teach them how they got into that position and how to get out of it."

What struck me wasn't the physical difficulty. It was the mental framework: you don't just survive hard things to prove you can. You survive them so you can turn around and help the next person through.

That's a fundamentally different way of thinking about skill development than most of us are taught.

What Russellville Needs More Of

Here's what I keep coming back to: Russellville doesn't have a shortage of talented people. We have a shortage of visible pathways for people to pursue work that actually matters to them.

Zach had built something real with his landscaping company. He had customers, revenue, a reputation. But he also had a choice that most people don't realize they have: he could redesign his life around what made him feel most alive, even if it meant starting over financially.

The Arkansas Economic Development Institute released data in 2023 showing that Arkansas has one of the lowest rates of "job satisfaction" in the country, despite relatively low unemployment. People have jobs. They just don't have work that feels worth doing.

What if we celebrated people like Zach more? Not as outliers or risk-takers, but as models for what intentional career design looks like?

He didn't quit his job on a whim. He saved enough to get through the winter. He made a deal with his business partner that honored the relationships he'd built. He mapped out a progression: coach rating, tandem instructor, AFF instructor, Safety and Training Advisor. Now he's been appointed as an advisor to the USPA Board of Directors—the governing body for the entire sport.

He's 33 years old.

The Couch Sessions

One of Zach's jobs as an instructor is what he calls "couch sessions"—sitting down with students who are ready to quit after a particularly brutal training jump.

"Sometimes they feel beat up by the process," he said. "It's not easy to get your A-license. It takes six months if you're being proactive. Some people do one jump a month and it takes them over two years."

He described one student in particular who was physically struggling—limitations they were born with that made certain maneuvers nearly impossible. Another who just felt defeated by how hard it was.

"You have to have that talk with them," Zach said. "Full-on couch sessions. Sometimes you tell them, 'Maybe you should take up bowling.'"

But more often, he talks them through it. He reminds them why they started. He goes up with them on the next jump and flies close enough that they can see it in his eyes: *You can do this.*

There's a version of this conversation happening in living rooms and coffee shops all over Russellville right now. Someone trying to figure out if they should keep pushing toward something hard, or if they should just give up and take the easier path.

We need more people willing to have the couch session. To sit with someone in the hard middle part and say, "Yeah, this sucks. And you're going to keep going."

Paradise Valley and the People Who Protect It

It's worth saying clearly: none of this would be possible without Steve Emmons, Robert Watkins and Holly Moore, the people who run Paradise Valley Skydiving.

"Not all drop zones are like this," Zach said, repeating something his mentors keep telling him. "Steve and Robert—if you say you want to do something, they don't say no. They just figure out how to make it happen."

When Zach needed his coach rating, Steve brought an evaluator to Clarksville instead of making him travel. When he wanted to pursue his AFF instructor certification, they supported him through the process. When he told them he wanted to go full-time, they restructured to make it possible.

That's not normal. At bigger drop zones, you're a number. At Paradise Valley, you're family.

"The air feels cleaner there sometimes," Zach said. "It's home."

I thought about that a lot after we finished recording. How rare it is to find a place—especially a workplace—where people actively invest in your growth, not because it benefits them directly, but because they believe in building something worth protecting.

We talk a lot about "community" in Russellville. But community isn't just people living near each other. It's people actively creating conditions for each other to become more of who they're meant to be.

Steve and the crew are doing that at Paradise Valley. Who else is doing it here?

The King Air Affair

Paradise Valley is hosting their signature end-of-season event: the King Air Affair boogie, themed "Another Night in Paradise" with a black-tie, prom aesthetic.

It's the kind of event that captures what makes Paradise Valley different. While other drop zones might shut down for the season, they're keeping the jumping going year-round and doing it with style. They're bringing in a King Air, organizing large formations, and even hosting a fireside chat with Chuck Akers—one of the most respected figures in the sport.

There will be body suspension demonstrations with Metamorphose, organizers leading everything from belly jumps to wingsuit flocking, and the kind of evening gatherings that turn skydivers into family. Bring your onesie if you have one. They're jumping in those too.

Zach will be there, of course—taking students through their progressions, coaching anyone who wants to improve their skills, and probably having a few couch sessions with people who need to hear that they can keep going.

It's the kind of thing that only happens when people are willing to bet on something bigger than the safe choice. When someone says, "Yeah, let's bring in a King Air. Let's make this happen. Let's throw a black-tie prom at a drop zone in Clarksville, Arkansas, because why the hell not?"

Most people would call that impractical. I think it might be exactly what this place needs more of.

What Would You Bet On?

Zach's long-term goal is ambitious: he wants to become a course evaluator, then eventually rise to leadership within the USPA. He wants to be the person who helps shape the next generation of instructors, the same way Mike Watkins and Chuck Acres and Aaron Kaiser shaped him.

"I know it sounds however it sounds," he said. "But wherever I stop throughout that, I have no idea."

He's not attached to the outcome. He's committed to the process.

That's the thing about people who actually change their lives: they don't need to see the whole staircase. They just take the next step, and then the next one, and they trust that the path will reveal itself.

I think about the people I know in Russellville who are stuck. Good people. Talented people. People who have a version of themselves they can see clearly in their minds, but they can't figure out how to get from here to there.

What if the first step isn't a plan? What if it's just a decision to stop accepting the hollow feeling as permanent?

Zach made a deal with himself: he'd bet on what made him feel most alive, and he'd figure out the details as he went. He sold his company, saved enough to survive the winter, and walked into the hardest thing he's ever done.

Now he's living a life most people would call a dream. Not because it's easy—it's not. But because it's *his*.

Paradise Valley Skydiving is located at 1413 E Main in Clarksville, about 25 minutes from Russellville. They're open Friday through Sunday, and they offer tandem jumps, student progression programs, and coaching for licensed skydivers. For details about the King Air Affair boogie and other events, check their website at paradisevalleyskydiving.com or call ahead.

If you want to hear the full conversation with Zach—including stories about naked tandem jumps, night jumps, and what it's like to freefall with a former CIA operative critiquing your form—check out the full podcast episode here:

And if you're feeling stuck, if you're wondering whether you should keep pushing toward the hard thing or just take up bowling—maybe give Zach a call. Sounds like he's pretty good at couch sessions.