“And sometimes I get
nervous when I see an open door.”
Human, The Killers
The past couple of weeks
have been intense, interesting, and introspective. I moved my home and office. Sometimes even the very best roads can still be
a bit bumpy. Although I knew I was
packing to transition my family and business to a new life, after long days of
working and parenting, I tired easily and my confidence waned. I began questioning what I was doing, if I
could pull it off. How was I going to
make this work? Was the timing
right? The “what-ifs” hit me. It was exactly how I had felt about coming
back to complete my flight training after being away for so long.
With moving there’s the
packing and unpacking, reintroducing yourself to treasures you had forgotten,
and purging those items that no longer fit.
One evening I was caught
off-guard and lost my breath when I opened an unlabeled storage bin that
contained the wedding dress that I packed away four years earlier when I had
last moved. I ran through everything
that goes along with that as I tried it back on. It still fits. It’s a classic. I think I’ll keep it for all my weddings.
In the thick of all the
change, on my Wednesday morning pilgrimage to my downtown Starbucks I was witness
to a moment in time that felt like a sharp jab in my solar plexus. It only briefly knocked the wind out of me
but I knew I had to break my own heart right then and there to save myself a
greater heartache later.
Thursday in the exact same
spot I had a similar experience. I swear
I was taking the same stride in the same place.
Since I am all about the signs I believe that The Big Guy is trying to tell me
to get a new Starbucks! I know – pretty
deep. I suspect that from now on every
time I grace that step in the path I will hold my breath.
A short time later the hamster
died.
“Wave
goodbye, wish me well. You’ve gotta let
me go.”
In 2009, I sat down with
one of the top Sky-Gods at the Club after a check ride where he advised me that
I would be soloing on my next flight.
Then he asked me if I was going to quit after I completed my first solo? “No.
God, why would you think that?” I asked in disbelief and to be honest, a
little bit of paranoia.
“Because a lot of women
quit right after they solo – I don’t know why but they do,” he answered.
“No, I won’t do that.” I waited until I started my cross-countries
to walk away.
“Up
to the platform of surrender I was brought but I was kind.”
Friday was the final moving
day. Saturday morning I knew if the
weather was good and my performance was better I would solo again. My second-first solo. Almost three years from my first-first solo in
October of 2009. My confidence was
shaky. There had been so much time in
between. I was completely wrapped up in
self-judgment. Even though that state of mind no longer fits, sometimes I’m a bit of a hoarder. No one knew what a really big deal it was to
me – and I didn’t tell a soul. From the
moment I woke up I had to remind myself to breathe.
I have had these
holding-my-breath experiences before.
Given enough life experience I’m sure we can all make a long list. I have children so that’s called holding your
breath for nine months – twice.
I will never forget the big
breath in with no release as I watched my infant daughter being wheeled away
for open heart surgery on what appeared to be a massive stretcher in comparison
to her tiny 10-week old body; or the tight chest and quick breaths every single
second from her birth trying to keep her alive so she would have an opportunity
to be on that stretcher.
I’ve had some doozies
right? Why couldn’t I breathe on
Saturday?
“Let
me know, is your heart still beating?”
The plane I was scheduled
to fly was late getting back and I had prepared all of my pre-flight work so I
waited. And I waited. Barely breathing. Waiting to exhale.
“So, today if everything
goes all right, you are going solo!”
Sean smiled through his citrus gum.
I’m not sure if I smiled back.
“Do I get another
certificate?” I asked.
“No. But let’s see if we can switch planes. We can take Yankee Romeo November.”
Then I did smile. “I did my first-first solo in Yankee Romeo
November!”
Eyebrow raised. “Well then looks like you
got your sign.” Sean reads my blog.
 |
| My first plane-crush YRN still fits. |
Used to be that every time
I was flying YRN I would walk up, touch the door, and say: “Hello Beautiful.” I had a soft spot for this little red on
white number because I lost my pilot-in-command virginity to it. When you fly your first solo in a particular plane
you never forget it. Did I mention I
also did my Discovery Flight in YRN? I’m
well acquainted with that throttle – that’s all I’m saying.
YRN had been out of
commission for quite some time while getting an overhaul. Now it had become another rediscovered
treasure. My stiff smile softened as I
slowly caressed the frame on my walk around.
YRN might need a little bit of body work but inside there’s a brand new
engine. I couldn’t help but notice the new
tires and bells and whistles in the cockpit.
When Sean cut me loose and
I did a couple of circuits on my own I wasn’t feeling the liberation or sense
of achievement I had the first time. But I also wasn't feeling the terror or the dread. All
I cared about was getting it exactly right: full power, gauges in the green,
airspeed’s alive, rotate, ground effect, climb out, turn at 500, level off at 1000,
power to cruise, call in the downwind, pre-landing checks, cleared for touch
and go, carb heat hot, reduce power, turn base, pitch to maintain airspeed, safe
altitude, turn on final, eyes on 1000 foot markers, co-ordinated flight
all the way down to the flare, hold it... touch and go and do it all over again. Don’t forget to breath.
In all of that I remembered
that I can fly a plane by myself. And I
was fine. What I had been waiting for
was the big SHAZAM! Skies open, lights
shine-on with a hip soundtrack that would allow me to take a deep breath in and
fully exhale. What I got was the same
old me riding with my first plane-crush and I was pretty okay in a not bad sort
of way.
“And
I’m on my knees looking for the answer.”
Then I met Howard Peng.
Howard had attained his
Private Pilot License a few days previous and was at the Club with his partner
for his first flight as a real-life private pilot. We started chatting and I learned that it had
taken Howard five years to attain his PPL.
He had wandered away more than once, trained at two different flying schools
in two different cities. He had a number
of instructors – some fit, some not so much.
Howard came back to VFC because his girlfriend, Crystal, was taking
ground school and he decided to sit in on a class with her as a refresher. He was at a point where he just wanted to get
it done. Because he had more than enough
solo hours he hadn’t flown without an instructor for quite some time. They had concentrated on preparing him for
his flight test. And he lit up like Las
Vegas as he related that even though he was now a licensed pilot, he still felt
like today had been his first solo – again.
 |
| Congratulations to Howard Peng! Bright and shiny new PPL. |
Howard was exactly the
right person to meet at exactly the right time.
He is living proof that one does not have to walk in a straight line to
get to a destination on a self-imposed time limit. He knows about second chances. He was a sign.
As I said good-bye to
Howard and Crystal the moodiness of the past week had shifted and I was all warm
butter on toast. What I learned from my
second-first solo, Yankee Romeo November, and Howard Peng is that it’s never
too late for a second chance. Get a new
Starbucks, keep flying. Breathe.
“Close your eyes, clear
your heart. Cut the cord.”
