From Gym Teacher To Pilot

Aside from the usual inquiries about my peasant-like eating habits, the most common question I'm fielding these days is, "How in the world did you decide to go to flight school?" Since I'm up to my xyphoid process in textbooks and checkride study materials this weekend, there's probably never been a better time to take a break and enlighten you on the abrupt metamorphosis my life has undergone in the past eight months or so. And if this bores you, well, I'll be happy to discuss how to properly decipher a METAR or PIREP with you over a round of boilermakers. But in the meantime, let's rewind the past year and revisit the process of how I decided to become a pilot.

Sometimes the hardest part of change is simply getting started. For me, it was convincing myself to have the courage to follow my passions, which, believe it or not, do not magically appear for everyone. College may have prepared me for a career, but it doesn't really prepare one for life. Big difference there. The pressures to establish oneself immediately upon graduation and 'get ahead' are immense, and in that culturally-imposed crucible, I did the only thing I knew how to do: waste an astronomical amount of hours working in the restaurant business. With copious amounts of cash flooding my bank account on a daily basis, the need to become entrenched in a career became irrelevant. It almost didn't matter that I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, as long as the money kept rolling in. That's the real trap of the restaurant industry; the compensation is so ridiculously out of proportion to the amount of actual work performed that rarely does one ever feel the need to move on. For me, it took over three years to finally break free.

After a summer away from the lure of easy money, I finally wisened up and decided to use my college degree for something other than participating in ridiculous Fantasy Football leagues. I began working as a substitute teacher, eventually landing a permanent position at a charter school. The hours were better, and it was certainly more fulfilling than delivering piping hot plates of overpriced seafood to unsuspecting guests, so I stayed for another year. I decided very early on, however, that I wouldn't be a lifer, that I hadn't scratched the surface of what I really wanted to do for the next forty years or so. While playing sports with kids all day certainly has its moments of glory, being a physical education teacher is also a ripe breeding ground for complacency. Toting a whistle and stopwatch while guzzling free cafeteria chocolate milk is incredibly appealing-for awhile. Tattooing belligerent middle-schoolers with a dodgeball imprint between the shoulder blades is an admirable way to spend your Fridays-again, for awhile. Eventually, I grew weary of taking it easy and submitting the bare minimum effort necessary. Only Vanna White had an easier job than I did over the past two years. I couldn't imagine myself being one of those crusty, sweatpant-wearing apathetic gym teachers for the rest of my life and always wondering, "What if? Note: if you're a gym teacher, and you happen to follow this blog, please disregard the above paragraph. 99% of professional educators are jealous of you. Keep up the good work-and the dodgeball Fridays.

Since I didn't want to be a financial drain on my society, especially in this Obamaconomy, I knew if I were to leave teaching I'd have to have a viable alternative career. What would it be? I had always been interested in flying; in fact, I recently discovered an old Microsoft Word file from 1995 detailing my life goals. Oddly enough, far down on that list was to one day obtain my pilot's license. I never imagined it would happen so quickly, that it would become the driving force to turn my life upside-down.

When I first began to entertain thoughts of persuing this dream, I knew there would be periods of questioning and self-examination. Is this really what I want? Am I cut out to handle giving up everything? Can I actually do this? Almost daily, those questions weighed heavily on my mind, causing more than a few sleepless nights along the way. The seasons of uncertainty that I encountered over the next few months as I began to take the initial steps were, at times, overwhelming. On the surface, it really didn't make a whole lot of sense: I had just spent the previous three years stockpiling my savings towards purchasing my first house, had found some semblance of stability, and finally considered myself to be free of the post-college doldrums. Why would I want to start all over again, to say nothing of heaping a massive student loan on my plate? But rarely does life make sense.

I threw myself into researching every possible angle on becoming a pilot: the next few months were a whirlwind of conversations, emails, and hours spent investigating everything from pay scales to industry hiring trends to poring over airline forums, all in hopes of gaining perspective and making certain it wasn't merely an impulse. Finally, in April, I began taking flying lessons, and was instantly hooked. For the first time since leaving college, a huge cloud was removed from in front of me, and I finally had a real answer for the question, "What do YOU want to be when you grow up?" From that point, a number of things fell into place to make my dream become a reality far quicker than I'd anticipated.

I've been a flight school student for over six weeks now. The road ahead is a long and grueling one. The airline industry is littered with people like myself. Competition for flying jobs is cutthroat, and, in an ever-shrinking economy, likely to get worse. Much has been documented recently about the low pay and grotesque lifestyles freshly minted pilots have grown accustomed to. New laws may make it harder for those of us who've just begun to find employment with airlines, to say nothing of keeping that job once earned: bankruptcies and furloughs are commonplace for virtually all airlines. But despite all that, I know there's absolutely nothing that I'd rather be doing than going after this dream. There are scant moments when I don't feel like the luckiest person alive: I get to fly airplanes.

Tomorrow my former colleagues are headed back to school, their summer vacations over, and preparations for a new school year will commence. I've spoken to a few of them, and most are full of passion for what they do and excited for the challenges ahead. Makes me think of my life a year ago, and how this new journey of mine was lurking in the shadows. What a crazy and unpredictable year it's been-but a year, and a transformation, that I wouldn't trade for anything.

PB&J Sandwiches Consumed (to date): 43