The Departed

I have a good friend who wanted nothing more than to fly airplanes. For the past year, the thought of becoming a pilot had consumed him. After graduation, flight school was his logical next step. His arrival here was more than the beginning of a career; it was the rest of his life. Passionate for aviation, the kid was a natural-in the classroom, and behind the yoke. Of the four of us, he was the one we ordained for greatness. An unflappable, energetic, and engaging individual, he was the kind of person you wanted to be around.

Less than a week ago, subtle changes in his demeanor became noticeable. His enthusiasm was waning. Study sessions were less appealing than a bologna sandwich. The menial tasks of pre-flighting and performing checklists were taking their toll. Flying was no longer enjoyable. You could see it in his face; he looked defeated. After a particularly grueling lesson, he approached me and began to share what I had begun to suspect: He no longer wanted to be a pilot. The doubts that had seeped into his mind were real. He fought it for a few days, as his heart and mind waged warfare against each other. But deep inside, he knew it was over. The decay of his dream was complete, and he began the painstakingly difficult process of sorting through his emotions, trying to salvage what was left of his logic, to discern the best course of action. While the prospect of dropping out of flight school after a few weeks certainly wasn't appealing, neither was the idea of being pursuing a career in which he no longer had any desire for. The magnitude of his decision weighed on him; the gaping smile on his face had vanished, he was hardly sleeping, his persona had evaporated. For a few days, it was like being friends with a ghost.

See, one of amazing things about life is the complex dynamic of human relationships. We can spend countless hours, even years, with people and never truly know them, or, in a matter of weeks, total strangers can become some of your closest friends. The bond of shared experience trumps all else; that's why war veterans still gather over a round of beers, it's why college roommates are lifelong friends, and it's certainly why I am writing about Lance. We spent hours poring over study books, swapping botched landing stories, and making fun of our CFI's. The struggle he faced provided an opportunity to remove the superficiality and be real with one another. In the midst of his personal crossroads, we had a conversation that ranks among the best I've ever had. The lesson learned is to take full advantage of your time with people you care about; you never know when your paths will divert. You never know when your shared experience will cease. We shouldn't miss out on the best part of the human experience simply because we're afraid to share our story-or to hear theirs.

Back to my friend: by yesterday afternoon, his apartment was packed, and, after a few abbreviated goodbyes, he was gone. Ultimately, he'll find his way, discover his passions, and a new dream will take shape. Flight school certainly isn't for everyone; his interests are waiting for him elsewhere. The real story here is that he had the courage to pursue a dream. I don't regard Lance as a failure, and I know in the end the ambition he possesses will guide his path. He took a shot and missed. How many people spend their entire lives wondering, what if? Let the record show that Lance won't ever have to deal with that question. If only everyone could be so lucky.

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