Photo by Lindeboom Jean-Bapt from Pexels.com!
I have never been one of those people who just knew what they wanted. We’ve met those people. They were the kids in high school who have their whole lives mapped out—complete with metaphorical pit stops. I have always been secretly jealous of them for having a destination.
I have only ever had a journey. That’s probably why the idea of becoming a pilot is something of a minor obsession since I was 18.
I love hearing how people got into aviation. The stories range from wanting to be a bush pilot in the Alaskan backwoods to wanting to work for an airline. Everyone has a unique draw for why they got into this industry. One thing we all have in common is the shared grit, suffering and triumph we endure to gain those coveted ratings and certificates.
My story is simple. High school ended and I was bored with the college pipeline of doctors, lawyers, and teachers. I wanted to do something extremely different than any friend or family member had. So, I enrolled in a community college for professional piloting.
Remember how I mentioned “suffering?” Yeah, I was a mathematically challenged pipsqueak of a young lady in class of farm boys all gunning for the same thing: to be commercial pilots. Several of them already had their Private before the first semester even started! Talk about pressure. Nearly all the women who enrolled usually ended up dropping out of the program too (I was the last one remaining of my class after two years).
It took me a year to get my Private certificate and I was ready to take my Instrument check ride about nine months later when life happened. I won’t bore you with all the details right now, but the result was me walking entirely away from aviation for about seven years.
Insane right? Even more so when considering all the hours spent flying, studying for mind-numbing FAA Knowledge exams, the equipment, and the money. Oh, the bloody MONEY! I shudder to think how many thousands of dollars I continue to spend on aviation.
Just before COVID-19 made its US appearance I had started flying again. I was so happy to see I hadn’t quite lost it all. That’s the one thing about being a rusty pilot diving back in. You’re terrified at the notion that you might start from square one.
Save for landing a Cessna 172 (I find maneuvering Piper Cherokees so much easier) and talking to ATC I functionally still know how to fly! Old demons like fine-tuning that damn trim setting are still tripping me up, but I am confident I can finish those last 100 hours or so to get my Commercial Certificate. The only thing slowing me down is what makes flying elusive to the masses: a bottomless well of cash.
Perhaps the reason why I am mildly obsessed with being a pilot has to do with the fact that you don’t always need a destination. In fact, I’d hazard to say that the very essence of a pilot is that it’s a never-ending journey.