Pilot to Performer
I lay back in my front yard.
The smell of a fresh-cut lawn wafts over me, replacing wintery thoughts with the freshness of Spring, a season of new beginnings.
Cool grass tickles my ears as the light breeze invites individual blades to a graceful dance.
From my vantage point on terra firma, I see the sprout of an idea flying high above me, literally. Not a bird or the poof of a dandelion, not a wayward bud, not a wispy cloud in the sky. Flying thousands of feet above is a plane.
I don’t know who owns the plane, who’s on the plane, whether the plane is coming or going. What I do know in that moment is that my future will include being in charge of that plane, not as a business owner or a dispatcher, but as a pilot.
I’m not even old enough to drive a car on earth, but I can already feel a plane’s steering wheel in my hand and gas pedals beneath my feet. From that moment, my life merges onto the path to pilotdom.
First stop is learning it’s called a yoke and not a steering wheel.
Second stop is learning the pedals are for the rudder and the “gas pedals” are throttles and they are moved by hand.
Fast forward a few decades and I have traveled that path and fulfilled that goal.
Except, that was never my goal.
Yes, I have laid back on grass.
Yes, I have seen planes fly overhead.
Yea, I wondered how those metal machines stayed airborne and how they were controlled.
I just never had that early-onset desire to fly one.
And secretly (until now), I’ve hated that flying wasn’t a passion I could claim.
I’m jealous of others who have had that back-on-the-grass-seeing-the-plane moment of realization and decision to become a pilot.
I loved flying.
I loved being a pilot.
But there were many times as a pilot that I felt guilty for not having a pivotal back story (word play intended). And though I’m no longer actively flying (unless row 34, seat E on a commercial airline counts), there are times I still feel that guilt, as if I’ve fulfilled someone else’s dream.
At the Air Force Academy, with roughly 1,000 cadets per class, everyone had the chance to go on to pilot training after graduation. The only ones who wouldn’t take the Air Force up on that were those who were medically ineligible. So, most cadets had a “two oh and go” mindset … maintain the 2.0 GPA and sail on into pilot training after graduation.
Two years before graduation our class was filed into an auditorium where some news was delivered. The Air Force powers that be decided to make a significant cut to the number of people who would be sent to pilot training. By significant, I mean in excess of a 77% reduction.
The talking head on stage robotically told us, “At graduation, only 225 of you will have the chance to go to pilot training. Because of this reduction, we will be ranking you based on not only your GPA, but also your Military Performance Average and your Physical Education Average.”
One thousand cadets literally sucked the ambient air out of the auditorium and metaphorically held their breath until 225 of them could exhale en route to pilot training.
I was fortunate enough to be one of the 225 because I had aimed higher than the 2.0 academic bar. I thrived in the structure of the military environment and I wheezed my way through the demanding physical requirements in the thin air up at the Air Force Academy campus’ 7,258 feet above sea level.
Being one of the 225 should have given me a euphoric sensation of having achieved the peak goal of being in the Air Force. Yet somehow, my celebration was muddied with some twisted form of survivor’s guilt because there were several classmates in the remaining 775 who had zero desire to do anything besides fly in the Air Force. They had been that small child lying on their back looking toward the heavens and feeling, in their core, that becoming a pilot was one and the same with breathing.
Lots of kids make wishes to a Devine Being or seasonal deities. I’m sure God, Santa, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny have all fielded children’s requests to be a sheriff, cowboy, pilot or accountant. The difference is that at the Air Force Academy, pilot aspirations are within realistic reach.
I feel agonized by heading off to training for an occupation that I could have taken or left while other classmates are settling for their remote second, third, fourth or not-even-on-the-list jobs.
I never fully celebrate my own success for having worked hard and strived for higher than the minimum, despite a common Academy chant of “The min wouldn’t be the min if it wasn’t good enough.”
My minimum, and therefore my aim, was the maximum.
And I have achieved the maximum, yet I deny myself any feeling of accomplishment. I feel a compulsory pull to give up my pilot training slot to someone who’s dreamt of this their whole life.
Ignoring the compulsory pull, I go to pilot training and graduate the rigorous year-long program with my Air Force pilot wings. That silver insignia is immediately recognizable to anyone in the Air Force. Jokingly, pilot wings are called the “Universal Management Badge,” referring to the career path of Air Force pilots filling a variety of roles not directly related to aviation. There is truth in that jest of course, as there are more pilots in command of maintenance or logistics units than maintainers or logisticians in command of aviation units.
Being a pilot means you’re closer to the pointy end of the Air Force mission spear. Otherwise it might be called the Maintenance Force or the Finance Force. There is a different status for pilots who keep flying up the rank structure as they are selected for jobs that continue to increase in scope and responsibility.
Looking back on it now, I always felt like an imposter.
Delving deep into the why of that sensation reveals a notion that I was undeserving of something I hadn’t dreamed of doing my entire life.
Which, reflecting on that deep delve, is ridiculous.
If you work hard, are offered an opportunity that you also work hard and excel at, you are deserving.
It matters not that where you landed isn’t something you dreamt of.
Most of us have aspirations to do something, be something or go somewhere. We are in control of the breadth of that goal. We may or may not be in full control of the doors that open to give us access to that goal.
When you find yourself in a room, what matters less is whether you intended to be there all along. What matters is that’s where you are right now. You belong.
You’ve put forth effort and found yourself in a particular situation.
Recognize the value of seizing opportunities, even if they weren’t part of your original plan.
Understand that where you are presently is where you belong.
Becoming a pilot wasn’t a lifelong dream for me, but it was a goal I pursued with determination and dedication.
Decades removed from the cockpit and even more from being a youngster staring at a blank canvas of life ahead of me, I realize that life often takes us down unexpected paths, leading us to destinations we never imagined.
Just like becoming a pilot, through a series of doors that opened unexpectedly, I find myself on a new path — one that led me to stages and microphones as a public speaker. It wasn’t a career I had ever considered, but I’m embracing each opportunity that comes my way. This time around, I’m not going to feel guilty for being on stage while some similarly-life-experienced person shares their story about sitting in a sold-out auditorium as a kid vowing to one day be the talent in the spotlight.
Regardless of whether I always aspired to be on stage or the more accurate narrative that it’s a recent discovery — I have a passion for sharing my story, so others will share theirs as well.
When I have the honor of standing before audiences, sharing my experiences and insights, I am fulfilled with this unexpected career. It may not have been part of my original plan, but sometimes the most rewarding journeys are the ones we never see coming.
So if you’re lying back on the grass and decide you want to be a pilot, go for it.
If you find yourself in the cockpit a few sorties away from being an accidental pilot, embrace it.
As I continue on this microphone-paved path as a public speaker, I do so with gratitude for the doors that opened, the opportunities seized and the unexpected twists and turns that have led me to where I am today. And I look forward to embracing whatever the future may hold, knowing that each step forward is a chance to grow, learn and inspire others along the way.
