We all have little things we’re proud of. Milestones, achievements, and goals that are either instrumental in shaping your future and are admired by others (like Graduating college), or feats that you personally found daunting and are proud of yourself for overcoming, like not wetting your bed. If you had an incontinence problem and had a dry night after months of therapy, you probably wouldn’t want to make a T-shirt proclaiming “Urine free for 24 hours!” I mean, congratulations are in order and all, but you might want to keep that a personal victory.

When I graduated high school, my parents were either proud or relieved, and other people said, “hey, congratulations” and stuff, but it wasn’t much of a victory. If you are familiar with public education in Georgia, you’ll know what I’m saying here. I gazed upon my graduating class, and thought “wow. These are my peers. I have to get the hell out of here before someone suggests we all go to his brother’s still and get drunk and screw our sisters.” Graduating College was a huge relief for me, as I was now a useable part of the workforce, and I knew that I didn’t have to take any more tests or stay up all night finishing a prototype of a redesigned breast pump. I wasn’t completely right about that, but at least when I stayed up all night to finish projects after that, I was getting paid for it.

Since then, I have worked the 40 hour week that is usually more like 52, and sometimes up to 80, have taken plenty of shit and gotten plenty of praise, set goals and met them through perseverance, luck, and patience, and generally had a hell of a ride. Last year I realized that this is a good way to make a living, but also a good way to drive one insane. The pay isn’t going to get much better unless I open my own firm (way more trouble than it is worth), the hours will be the same or worse, and the politics will be around forever.

I decided last year to get my pilot’s license and pursue it as a career if I enjoyed it as much as I thought I would. I have been flying for a few months now and love it more than I can tell you. There is nothing more rewarding to me than doing everything it takes to keep the airplane in the air and putting it down safely. Part of the process of learning to fly is having an instructor watch over you until he thinks you are ready to fly by yourself. It is called a solo for those who aren’t airplane savvy, and it happened to me about three weeks ago. Now I talk about it like a thirteen-year-old girl who just got her period. It’s not that big of a deal, but I am proud of it.

Flying a plane is really pretty simple after you understand the way it works physically, but the first time you fly around the pattern, you hear your instructor say “Okay, now we turn on carb heat, cut the power to 1500 rpm, pitch for 80 knots, drop 10 degrees of flaps, constantly check airspeed and power, make a radio call to let everyone else know where you are, oh, also look around and make sure no one else is too close, make a 90 degree left turn when you are 45 degrees off the end of the runway, but don’t bank more than 15 degrees and pitch for 75 knots, drop in another 10 degrees of flaps, another radio call…..” and you’re still only about halfway to the runway.

By now I was trying to unlatch my seatbelt and jump the hell out. Everyone likens it to “drinking from a fire hose”. Very accurate. To add to it, you always know that if you screw up, there is a real possibility that you will die.

What an awesome challenge. After a couple months of lessons, I landed the plane and my instructor said “okay, I’ll get out and you fly for a while.” Trying my best to look and sound confident, I squeaked “mmkay”. He left the plane and I was on my own.

I had done it at least 50 times before, and nothing was any different now, but I was a little nervous now that the security of an experienced pilot sitting next to me was not there.

I taxied up to the runway, did the appropriate checklists, made my radio call, pulled out onto the runway, shoved the throttle forward, and I was moving. At 55 knots, I pulled back on the yoke, and I was airborne for the first time, all alone. I flew the pattern around the runway and started my descent. Landing can be tricky, and it is where you are the most careful. You are getting close to the ground and you are only about 25 knots from the speed at which the airplane stops flying. You don’t get to make too many mistakes and get away with it. Needless to say, I was alert like never before. (see my last entry where I thought someone was about to kill me) I brought it in just like every time before, and much to my satisfaction, I landed it pretty smoothly. Here’s a picture just before touchdown. If you look closely, you can see the sweat dripping out of the door seal.

As soon as I had landed and pulled off the runway, something changed. I had accomplished something that I wasn’t sure I could do. That was the difference. I had never before had any doubt that I could do what I had set out to do. All of a sudden my whole demeanor changed. I have heard this from other pilots- after your first solo landing, you realize that you are in control, and you become a pilot. I flew the pattern twice more with no incident and much less stress, and after my third landing, I pulled off the runway, keyed the mic, and proudly proclaimed “Cessna 2-4 echo is clear of the active runway, Falcon Field, and I flew it all by myself.” There were a few congrats form others on the frequency, a “good job” from my instructor, and I brought it in and parked it. My dad was there, having recently retired after 33 years as an airline pilot. He was a bit choked up, and as I shook his hand and gave him a “man hug” it meant more than all the graduations and bedwetting-free nights in the world. No, I don’t wet the bed. I just used it as an example because I couldn’t think of anything else. Really.

As the saying goes, I have been bitten by the bug. I don’t even have a private pilot’s license, but I am going to pursue it to the highest degree possible. I have a lot of flying to do between now and then. Stay tuned.

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