Double Trouble

Growing up in a house full of brothers with a single mother in the pilot seat was quite an experience. Mom, with her firm but loving hand, blessed me with a wonderful perspective on life. Further, she instilled in me the responsibility necessary to be a productive member of the world. Both she and my father worked diligently to provide for my brothers and me, but money was tight. I don’t begrudge our financial struggles in any way. They taught us all the value of a dollar and respect for the work it took to earn that dollar. In many ways, my parents’ challenges blessed me with a burning desire to do better than they did--to succeed financially in ways that weren’t available to them. I’m grateful for this drive. However, it set in motion an epic struggle within me.

At age forty-four, the battle rages on. Do what I love for low pay or make good money so I can do what I love? And as such, life decisions are often difficult to make. When I’m faced with one, I find myself thinking about past choices, attempting to draw from their successes and failures. But what if the right decision 10 years ago is the wrong decision today? What if today’s logical decision would have seemed ludicrous 10 years ago? Is this shift in perspective simply a product of aging and maturity or a change in circumstance allowing me to track a route less traveled?

A couple of weeks back, I awoke on a Saturday morning, downed some hot java and headed south on A1A to St. Augustine Airport. My objective was to meet with an instructor, fly a new airplane, and begin brushing up on my instrument flying. Further, the instructor I was flying with has a rating allowing him to instruct in a multi-engine aircraft. I wanted to get a feel for his teaching style. The flight went well although my instrument work was less than stellar. It was my first flight in a few months, and as always, getting back in the air invigorated me.

During each of the next two weeks, I found myself driving south, sliding into the cockpit and climbing effortlessly into the sky. I began reflecting on all of the wonderful experiences I’ve had in aviation. I contemplated whether the allure and love would remain if I tried to scratch out a living as a pilot for a few years. I also wondered what it would be like to enjoy going to work. Would the joy of flying really outweigh the satisfaction of a fat paycheck? I couldn’t answer the question, knowing the only way I would ever find out was to continue training and pushing further into the unknown.

As confidence in my instrument flying returned, I began rummaging through my closet and located a book I’d been holding onto for quite some time. It was a basic flight book with one chapter dedicated to multi-engine aircraft procedures. While grossly inadequate in terms of a training manual, it wetted my appetite for knowledge. After completing the chapter, I picked up the phone and scheduled my first flight behind the wheel of a multi-engine aircraft.

While waiting for that first flight, I spent a lot of time struggling with my decision. Since a multi-engine rating is useless to me unless I plan on making the transition to professional pilot, I had to grapple with the expense involved for the additional training.
That little voice inside my head kept telling me this choice wouldn’t be logical and you’ll waste both time and money. And because work has simply been about making money all of my life, I’ve always listened to that voice.

I found myself pondering carefree days growing up on Westview Street in Springfield, Missouri. My brothers and I were always broke. Yet those were golden years for us. While we had our growing pains, those penniless years are the ones we inevitably find ourselves reminiscing about. And why is that? The answer is simple. We enjoyed what we were doing. Money wasn’t as important as having fun.

When the day came to fly the twin, the money issues were still haunting me. That little voice was screaming at me again. I forged ahead, deciding that one flight doesn’t commit me to anything. After all, it wouldn’t be until I began three flights a week that the expense would become financially painful. So I drove south on A1A, and in no time, I was walking toward the plane, preparing to do my first pre-flight inspection on this complex, money-sucking juggernaught. It wasn’t long before I climbed behind the wheel and began going through the checklist in preparation for the flight. As we neared the engine start procedure, I felt that old, familiar tinge of childlike excitement. That feeling of having a first and knowing it can only happen once in your life. When it was time to start engine one, I turned it over and immediately felt it roar to life. I giggled when the checklist called for starting engine two.

We received clearance to taxi and within minutes were parked in the run-up area testing and re-testing all of the different systems. Once completed, I taxied to the hold-short line in front of Runway 13. As I looked down the 8,000-foot strip, I could barely see from the heat rising above the concrete. Sweat dripped from the brim of my hat and trickled down my face. Adrenaline poured through me as I rolled onto the runway. I grinned at my instructor while pushing not one, but two throttles to full power. As we lumbered down the runway, I could think of nothing except flying the airplane. When we lifted off, an intense feeling of freedom came over me. For the next hour, I pitched and banked, climbed and descended, slowly becoming one with this complicated piece of machinery. After a pair of touch-and-go landings, I taxied to the ramp and shut the engines down.

The toughest woman I’ve ever known recently implored me to do what I love because we live only once and are allowed no do-overs. I’m grateful for that advice. Ten years ago, checking out of the working world for a low-paying dream job would not have been possible for me. I’ve always listened to that inner voice telling me I need more money and I should waste no time in getting it. But sometimes that little voice lies. It pushes us to do what’s logical while slowly killing our desires and passions. Sometimes we have to take a leap of faith in order to live a creative and satisfying life. So I’ll press on, accepting adventure as my salary and when that little voice pipes in, I’ll think about that happy-go-lucky high school kid living on Westview Street. While I expect this airway to be fraught with setbacks and difficulties, for now, the decision seems right--because if not now, when?