When we put a destination in mind, suddenly, we have defined a “here” and a “there,” we get in a hurry, and everything in between becomes meaningless. Flipping that notion on its head for a moment, the great circle that defines our journey becomes an infinite collection of points, each uniquely defining the singular moments along the way…Here, where the road map is useless and unmarked, the adventure begins and, embracing the in between and all its possibilities, travelers become adventurers.
As we slide along in smooth air between the layers, weather builds in fibrous strands of stratiform as though some invisible engineer weaving a web of vapor to capture the fading light.
Inspiration is most easily found when we aren’t looking, but choose instead just to open our eyes…The old pilot who knows the name and nomenclature of every rivet and widget to roll out of the Boeing factory, and approaches his craft as both a science and an art…The passenger who patiently allows a more manic and less polite traveler to push past him by in line, knowing that they’ll both arrive at the same time…The former Air Force Colonel taking tickets in the airport parking garage, far from his life and home in Africa…The little girl with fire in her eyes as she watches the cockpit lights illuminate their test patterns to the sound of bells and klaxons…The lovely middle eastern lady working the opening shift at the airport Starbucks on Christmas morning that proudly shares that she doesn’t have to work on her Christmas…The ground crew carefully transferring baggage while standing cold-soaked in the rain…The van driver who makes her 27th trip of the day to “you name the” terminal, but who smiles and greets us all as though she’s just happy to be here with us. If we are observant and ready to receive the lessons, every one of these people has something to teach us…diligence, courage, tenacity, patience, perseverance, sense of duty, raw enthusiasm, hope, sacrifice, peace, and determination…We are all more alike than we will ever recognize and in the most ordinary of places, we are surrounded by the greatness of risk takers and prophets.
Storms have a way of dominating the landscape, darkening skies, and darkening moods as we feel the weight of the atmosphere falling down upon us…Clouds are a story in and of themselves, as they change their shapes and states, conserve and express their energy, and move along their way. When a storm has passed, we search in its wake for a rainbow…reassurance that we have weathered the storm…and we revel in the beauty of the rainbow’s spectral light. We often delude ourselves into thinking that sign means that the storm is gone, like some bugaboo magically vanishing when we turn on the light, but the rainbow only lives on the edges of the storm. Our storm has not vanished, it has simply moved on and, with the perspective of the rain falling on someone else, we look upon its distant display and allow ourselves to see the drama played out in the symbiosis of earth and atmosphere…beauty resides along the edges of every storm.
We’ve all had a little more time on earth lately. Deprived of our time among the clouds, we still look down upon the earth with our aerial lenses, picturing all things as if from our usual perch and dreaming of our motion on the invisible currents of the skies…But here on earth, we watch as the water flows steadily from a mountain lake, accelerating as it flows over the rocky shallows, while strands of marine plants illustrate the invisible motion as they are pulled along by the current.
It can be murky, the features of our surroundings hidden behind a heavy shroud or barely recognizable under a thin veil…Whether obstacles to sight, perception, comprehension, or spirit, we struggle to fix our place in the atmosphere and occasionally feel lost until a single ray of light appears to help show us the way…Our lens on the world changes with the perception of light and shadow. In that rare moment of illumination, the details become clear and seem all the more glorious for our previous deprivation.
When we dream of flight, our feet planted firmly on the ground, we experience an adventure in relative motion…rarely do we fly in a cloudless sky with no horizon in sight, instead we soar over farmlands and cities, the things that we know well from our life bound to earth…we circle around and through clouds, drawn in to the mysteries of their effortless levitation…When we dream of flight, we unlock the secret perspective of the bird and the hidden fluidity of the wind…Seeing only at first, we eventually feel the sensation of flight and bind our dreams to our reality. Before I ever flew, I dreamed of flight…Spending my life in the air, those dreams are now intertwined with my memories and I will forever see the world from above as though in a dream.
No matter one’s perspective, there is always a climb to be made…up a gentle slope to the top of a hill, up a steep incline to a jagged ridge or mountain top, up through an open sky to the tropopause…we feel a sense of accomplishment at the pinacle, although we’re only halfway there. Every successful journey has ups and downs, a symmetry of purpose, a venture upward and downward, outward and inward…no adventure is complete until we have the perspective to reflect on the whole of the experience.
Where there is a storm, let us not go into it blindly, but let us not turn away in fright when the reality of the storm is the least of our fears…It is incumbent upon us to deal with it. Sometimes that means sitting it out and waiting for it to blow out, watching the radar and wind reports, listening to the radio for cues as to what others are experiencing, and developing an understanding of the threat we must plan to engage…Sometimes, we rock and roll. Sometimes, we sit motionless and watch a light show. Sometimes, we go around…Unlike any other profession, sitting still or suddenly pivoting to furious action can both result in successful outcomes. In either case, this is our calling…to face the storm, to exercise prudence, to ensure the safety of our charges…to be the calm within the storm.
It’s not a smooth ride, but it is intoxicating. Standing at the foot of the mountain, I dream of being up there amid the ripples and rolls of this tortured sky, at one with the motion and absorbing the radiant yellow light. If I could paint such a sky, I should think I was in heaven and I would never stop. This is the sort of moment that lingers in our minds for an eternity.
A pathway to follow or a chain of events in our past? Changing our perspective on the ordinary can lead us to fresh discoveries, to new ways to use the information that abounds, to be self-critical, to improve upon how we do things…to be better in myriad ways. Chances are, someone else has wandered this highway leaving us a sign to follow? Connecting the dots, the points of data, we can foretell the bumpy ride ahead…or we can respond to the telltales and plot a new course in hopes of experiencing a different fate, scribing our own lessons in our wake.
In the heart of every storm there is a light trying to escape, a voiceless scream in the deafening darkness…Senseless and ignorant, we watch the storm build, never understanding the truth, that pent up energy will rise to the heavens and release in a fury of light and sound…as unintelligible as mumblings in a foreign tongue, the release is misunderstood as if it were the rumbling of a train or the roar of a beast, yet it is neither…It is the frustrated cry of a speechless soul pressed by the darkness and longing to be noticed as a force of nature and set free. Forever, we tilt toward the storm.
In the darkest place in North America, light illuminates the rough edges while shadows paint the depths of the chasm. The darkness comes first, then the light brings us perspective. Here, there is neither struggle nor conflict between night and day as the depth of the canyon provides stasis in the ceaseless progression of light.
Riding on the edge of a rolling up draft and then drift down the other side as though riding a swell on the open ocean…climbing and slowing, descending and accelerating, our senses on alert to the all important and life granting airspeed…We come alive amid the cloudscape of the tropopause, reading the air as we catch discordant glimpses of the clouds and landscape beneath us…the surface winds creating the visually soothing swells of sand dunes along the western face of the front range before skipping the rocky edifice and rippling through the atmosphere with increasing intensity to rock our ship.
Eight miles a minute, we speed toward our destination…Keeping our eyes on the seemingly motionless stars above, we maintain our mission focus. A momentary glance below into the blur of our motion and we risk disorientation and loss…Constancy and motion provide a tension between which our sense of purpose inspires us to keep moving, to keep focus, to keep the shiny side up and smiles on our faces.
The presence of weather doesn’t halt our mission, instead, our mission planning begins with it…we ponder the development of weather threats, we think through scenarios and contingency plans, we weigh the physical constraints of our environment against our capabilities, we make decisions based on the availability of information, then we head out into the world and determine the truth of the moment in which we find ourselves. We are in the business of seeing through obscurations to perceive threats. From altitude, we look at the valley below us…rock formations hidden beneath a shroud of fog and red earth disguised by the radiant blue-white glow of snow. Sometimes weather is just vapor, while other times it is a veil disguising threats…A good perspective and a thorough understanding of our environment are the key to ensuring our safety when we find the reality of the world around us obscured.
It may look like another world, but it’s a space we know well…As we venture into the night, we seemingly move between worlds, following flares of reflected light into the last glowing slivers of the day.
When we are forced to make a transition, it is often unpleasant and unsettling…Such is the case when we must wake before dawn, dressing in the half light of a hotel room in a city we can’t recall without looking at the flight schedule, while praying for the half-caffeinated burnt medicine of hotel lobby coffee…But when our transitions are in the rearview mirror and we find ourselves watching the transitions of the world around us, we sense the magic and bask in the singularity of the moment…Dawn divides the abyss of night into the heavens above us and the earth and sea below us, separated by a widening line of ambiguous light. Our senses are, at once, excited and at ease, watching the glowing contours of the sea of clouds beneath us, reading the ride, delighting in the colors and the broadening light of day. This is our longing…to be in motion, to have purpose, to captain our ships, and to put all our activity and transitions into perspective while enjoying the view.
We often witness the surreal, but seldom recognize when we have become part of it…playing the part of spectator and performer. We move through the tension of an evening sky as though wet bristles over canvas, leaving our feathered strokes behind to play with the reflections.
It keeps spinning ahead…no matter our direction of travel or how fast our pursuit, we never truly return to the place that we left. Every moment of our lives, every breath of wind, every ray of sunlight, and every drop of rain is a singularity if our perspective is so grand as to recognize our constant motion. Events, places, times…no two the same…forever shifting as we move through space.