Walking away

Years ago I took flying lessons. I only logged 30 hours in an old fixed-gear single Piper J-3, but they were exhilarating hours. There's something magnificent about leaving the earth and feeling a small plane shake and bump around you as you're riding the winds. The freedom is nicely balanced by the discipline, attention to details and care of your aircraft that flying demands. You can never take flying for granted. It's something you work to do.

I never got over the tension and anxiety of landings though. I always knew that everything could end completely if I didn't handle it well. That tension affected my performance, and I never had a perfect, graceful three point landing. These were in the days of extreme perfectionism for me, and I tended to rant about my less than stellar performance. I obsessed over each step of landing until I drove my instructor crazy. He was a quiet, withdrawn person who only made sure that I had the knowledge necessary to be safe and meet the standards of my lessons. He didn't care if I excelled or failed, as long as I didn't endanger him, myself or anyone else. My graceless landings received only the old cliche' that any landing you walk away from is a good one.

He was right. Landings are inevitable. They simply have to be done, and that's it. Yesterday, I emotionally hit the ground hard and let myself experience it fully. I didn't hide from it, numb myself out or twist things into something that they simply are not. Today, I'm up and walking around. I'm in a much better position to look at the wreckage and see what needs to be done. I've got the self-pity in check, and a healthier, loving sympathy for myself is in its place. I feel up to the work that I have to do, and I'm proud that I'm standing.

The photograph is a 1940 Piper J3 Cub, a much older version of the plane I flew. Piper manufactured Cubs from 1937 to 1994.

flying lessons, Piper J3 Cub, emotions