The thought of not ever flying again makes me feel empty inside. I’ve never felt so alive as when I’m in control of an aircraft. There is something about it that wakes my soul and burns hot in my chest; a longing that I didn’t know was even there until I flew a plane for the first time.
Now, when I’m away from it, I long to be back there even if it’s just at the airport to see the planes or run my fingers across a wing. It satisfies and delights my soul.
The thrill of putting a plane in the air, of guiding it across the skies is unlike anything else I’ve experienced. There is a magic in every plane, each with its own personality and temperament. They come alive just like me when the engine fires and the prop turns. I’m certain they long to be in the air as much as I do. They were made to fly and I believe I am meant to be their guide.
It’s a fascinating journey that I’m on and it kindles a fire deep inside of me; embers that apparently always burned that once ignited won’t be diminished but are fanned by every moment that I think about the wonders of flying.