What we have here is a failure to communicate

One thing "nice" about flying at a school with an aging fleet, like my first school, is that you get to practice emergencies for real.  Nothing so severe as, say, engine fire or the wings falling off;  but in the span of my private license training, I did had tachometer failure, electrical failure, and Comm failure, to name a few (oh, and an oil pressure scare).  Though perhaps the least serious of these, the Comm failure was the most unnerving.

 

It happened right after my first solo (which by the way was incredible.  Weird to see my CFI, so large in my imagination, become so small alongside the runway as I approached final).  I was doing routine solo pattern work when my radio went out.  (By the way, what is it about working the radios that is so intimidating at first becomes so routine later on?  Perhaps it's that any rookie ineptitude would have witnesses?  I think it is linked to people's fear of public speaking, a top anxiety)

 

I read back the tower's clearance and took off.  I was upwind when the tower started asking me about my radios.  I had done what tower had told me to do, but apparently they didn't hear me readback their clearance.  I felt a slight panic grip me, as I was a novice in a problem.  I had to remind myself that the rest of the plane worked just fine.  I could still hear tower, but they couldn't hear me.  Tower had to clear the pattern for me.  They asked me to rock my wings if I could hear them, which I managed OK. 

 

I was concerned about the crosswind, which was near the limit I was endorsed for.  I remembered my CFI's advice - to use 2 notches of flaps instead of 3, giving me more speed but also more control.  This trade-off is usually acceptable, although I was dealing with a pretty short runway (2400 feet - relatively routine now, but demanding when beginning).  I decided to go with 2 notches of flaps.  Though the landing was far from ideal, the plane and myself were in one piece, and at the end of the day, that's what counts.

 

Now in retrospect, what I forgot in the heat of the moment is that I had 2 comms.  I tried Comm 1 and it's standby, but neglected Comm 2, which when I contacted ground worked well.  As luck would have it, the same thing happened a few weeks later.  This time I switched to comm #2, and everything went swimmingly.  Lesson learned.  It get easier.  Not easy, but easier.

8th anniversary

"To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part."

 

My anniversary is today.  My wife and I dug out the old wedding video and spent a wonderfully lazy day watching it.  Few things bring into focus the passage of time like an old video of yourself.  It was a reminder of the way things used to be.

 

My old friends, so mature and established now, just bubbling with youth and giddy energy.  The teenagers now were children - and the children were toddlers.  There were couples who are now divorced.  And a few dear friends who are no longer with us.

 

Several songs come to mind

"Unchained Melody" - http://www.weddingvendors.com/music/lyrics/r/righteous-brothers/unchained-melody/

"One of these days" - http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/neilyoung/oneofthesedays.html

"Sunrise, sunset" - http://www.lyricsondemand.com/soundtracks/f/fiddlerontherooflyrics/sunrisesunsetlyrics.html

 

But it is the wedding vow I am thinking about now.  I think I speak for most people when I say, when you get married, you really have no idea the breadth and depth of experience that these vows encompass.  It is a beautiful summation of a whole boatload of experience that you'll be experiencing as Captain and First Officer (which one is the Captain?  I'll take the 5th amendment).

 

In the 8 years we've been married, and 12 years we've been together, we have definitely seen our share of ups and downs.  The early NY days with the drunken roommates and the neighborhood drug dealer out front of our building.  The high days of discovering NY and all it had to offer.  Sharing the drunken nihilism post-9/11.  The Green Tortoise trip back.  Sharing an apartment managing job, squabbling over who has to do what.  Loads of patience on both our parts.  The first kid, who had us swaying in a state between euphoria, frustration, and exhaustion.  Many, many shared laughs.  Money woes.  Family woes.  The second kid approaching.

 

"For better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part."  Who knew we'd hit all the aforementioned points?

 

I think it's natural to wonder about the roads untaken.  Sometimes I wonder about the life I would have led had I not met my wife.  I am a believer in chaos theory, and I don't think the answer is as linear as, say, "It's a wonderful life", where each effect was tied closely to a cause. 

 

Happily, the anecdote is usually an evening with my single friends, where I find out how much I'm not missing, and the phrase "there but the grace of God…" crops up in my thoughts repeatedly.

 

Truth is, I can't really imagine a life where I hadn't met my wife.  Having a partner gives your life definition and purpose.  Decisions made must be weighed and reasoned.  Drifting is not an option.

 

A fair question one might ask is "If you had it to do over again, knowing then what you know now, would you do it the same?"

 

My answer: In a heartbeat.

 

P.S.  And no, I'm not just saying that because my wife reads my blog too.  Happy anniversary my love.

Memories of New York

My wife and I lived in New York for close to 3 years, from 1999-2002.  In many ways, it was the most amazing time of our lives.

 

There is really too much to convey our tine New York.  What today's entry is a moment in a taxi to Manhattan.

 

New York is many things to many people.  To me, it was the place where your dreams could come true.  We were working day jobs, my wife at ESPN and me at Goldman Sachs.  At night, we'd party and try to make our theatrical dreams a reality.

 

I wrote a play and my wife directed it.  It was stressful, frantic, and one of the greatest things I've ever done.  My wife was amazing as a director, uncovering moments in my script I didn't know were there, translating my pages into a vision.  The actors were creative, brilliant and beautiful.

 

The audition was insane.  I put an ad in Callboard (theatre news).  No pay, non-union, staged reading.  We rented a space.  When we showed up, there was a line out the door.  I walked towards the room I was renting, thinking there was no way that this was for me.  But sure enough, it was.  Like 300 people showed up.  It was insane.

 

So there I was, completely green, with a hoarde of eager actors outside.  Putting on my best poker face, I said "I will need some time to set up, I will honor the sign-in sheet" that the actors started.  I went inside, closed the door, and laughed my ass off as quietly as possible.

 

My wife, arriving later, did the exact same thing.

 

So we went through the process, picked our cast, and went through the rehearsal process.  Things were going great, shaping up extrememly well.  There was a feeling that success was not only likely, but inevitable.

 

One day, towards the end of the rehearsal process, I took a cab into the city.  On the Brooklyn bridge, with the city agleam, was gripped by a sudden wistfulness.  I felt my life changing, from a day worker to a playright star.   It was a strange bittersweet feeling.  I was surprised to miss the way my life was.

 

So the reading went well, and then September 11th happened.  And all prospects of theatre ended.  The time wasn't right for any theatre, particularly controversial theatre about youth, abortion and suicide.

 

My wife and I, after much soul searching and deliberation, decided it was time to move home and start a family.  We left New York on a green bus and never looked back.

 

Except at that moment on that bridge, where I secretly dismayed at my stratospheric trajectory and longed for the "common" life that I am now leading.  Those delusions of grandier are a testament to just how green I was then.  The beauty of youth is limitless possibilty.  The beauty of age is knowing the world, knowing yourself, and being greatful for your life - in whatever form it has taken.

A pleasant default

My son and I took some tennis rackets to the park the other day to hit a ball around.  We had earlier hit the ball around the house, and this was the extension of that.  I was having trouble pitching the ball to a spot where he could hit it.  Wind correction and other factors threw me off. 

 

He took this rather personally, as he thought I was doing this on purpose, and making him miss.  He, for better or worse, doesn't realize that his old man is unpracticed (inept) at these things.  So he stormed off.

 

My son has always gotten upset rather easily, but this is new for him.  It's sadness.  It breaks my heart, even though I know it's a perfectly normal emotion in the human spectrum.  So I sat with him a little and asked if everything is OK.  He's at an age where he has a hard time talking when he's upset.  So I just let it be, and sat with him for awhile.  Finally, he says "I love you dad."  Which is something, I think, he says sometimes when he doesn't know what else to say.  But it is a very nice default setting.  : )

Not-so-great moments in piloting

There are traits that make a pilot good.  Diligence.  Intelligence.  Attention to detail.  Proactiveness.  Intestinal fortitude.

 

It is on the last count early-on that I failed miserably.  This is an embarrassing story but I'm going to tell it anyways.  This is the time I barfed all over my flight instructor.

 

When I first began flying, I lined up financing, did my homework, visited my target schools, did my due diligence as it were.  The first flight was as it should be, magical and overwhelming and awe-inspiring, bird-like transcendence yadda yadda you get the drift.  It was the second day that I got into trouble.

 

We were running the gamut, strait-and-level flight, flight controls, the four forces in balance.  I started to feel a little woozy so we land.  As a lark, I buy a air sickness bag.

 

Let me rewind this day a little.  My wife, God bless her, decided to make me a large breakfast.  Eggs, sausage, waffles, the whole 9.  I drank a Red Bull on the way to the airport.  My own personal NTSB investigation would pinpoint this as the key turning point in the poor decision chain that ended so calamitously.

 

So we take off and are doing some spirals when I start getting that feeling.  The warm spit rising feeling.  Oh no.  No no no. 

 

I tell my flight instructor and he tells me to focus on the instruments.  I've heard it told both ways, that you should look at the instruments or you should look outside.  I'll have to look that one up.  But whatever the desired effect was, it was not accomplished. 

 

And one thought raced through my head: "Where the hell is that bag?!?!?!"

 

Under the calm circumstances on the ground later, I did manage to find it in my back pocket.  But up there in the plane, I swear I checked all my pockets twice to no avail. 

 

And then I barfed.  I tried to hold it back with my hands, but it was like trying to stop a river surging from a broken dam.  It rocketed through my fingers all over my self, the instruments, and my poor flight instructor.

 

So there we are 5,000 feet above the earth sitting in a vast pool of my vomit.  I was more mortified than I have been since Jr. High.  The smell just permeated the cockpit.  My CFI (Certified Flight Instructor to the civilians out there) has sort of an ashen look on his face.

 

Does anyone remember that scene in "Stand By Me" with the chain reaction vomit circle?

 

Luckily, he was an old pro.  He opened the windows and gave me an early and important aviation lesson.  "Fly the plane," he said.  "No matter what happens, fly the plane."  I managed to point us in the right direction and we completed the trip home.

 

What I thought was funny was my CFI's reaction.  "I'm not mad at you," he told me.  A week later, as a managed to pull it together and do some normal flying, he said "... I was a little mad at you."  Later, when I had many lessons and acquired many of the necessary tools, he was like "... Remember that second day?  I was mad at you."

 

I learned that a few other CFIs also threw up early in their training.  Apparently, air-sickness is a somewhat common phenomenon, which is aggravated by caffeine.  I learned that though caffeine might be necessary for everyday activities, the adrenaline from flying was more than enough to keep me on my toes.  I learned to eat light before flying and eat heavy afterwards.  Most of all, I learned to always always fly the plane.

 

And to lay off the Red Bull for breakfast.

A great artist/man/woman/etc...

Is always in the process of becoming.

What a bummer that is.

I'm not sure where I first heard that phrase, but it is true, and wickedly so. It seems I have been waiting my whole life for something great to happen.

In my admittedly rather shallow dabbling with Zen Buddhism, we talked about our Western Civilization, which is sick in many senses of the word. What this country teaches you is this, and you'll know what I'm talking about - "I'll be happy when ________." Whether this is a new car, a new lover, being out of school, being out of debt, it is all about being outside of the moment you are in. The future.

Of all the philosophies I've looked at, I think I agree most with Zen Buddhism. Although I am non-practicing. Which, when you think about it, is the exact opposite of what you are supposed to do with Buddhism.

Meditating, mindfulness - it is that which I think I am weakest, and would most like to be.

In fact, if you are willing to listen to stock advise from my mother-in-law, who is not a stockbroker but does watch a lot of TV, the entire economy is based on it. We abandoned the "gold standard," the foundation of our economy, to trade in "futures." Predicting the future and buying/selling accordingly.

Now growth is important, important to strive for and aim at. There is nothing wrong inherently with dreaming of a better tomorrow. But with tomorrow being a shiny Lexus, it sure does make the Dodge Dart today seem shoddy by comparison.

And that's what sucks. By all measures I had a wonderful day today. Breakfast with my family, some personal business that went well, and then a walk in the park with my son (a beautiful 4-year old boy, counting my blessings) and our in-law's dog. We fed some ducks, and then at his request we laid back and watched the clouds. We hung out in the shade of a tree and watched the planes go by.

And yet I am haunted by the ghost of tomorrow. Heaven, hell, or most likely more of the same, only different. Limbo, and not the fun dance where you shimmy under a stick.

I've been a student pilot for some time now. I am working my way through the hoops - I am on my instrument training now, and it seems to be going good. But fear lingers.

It is a time of desperation. My wife and my new baby approaches. I am pushing 33 (some will gasp, some will laugh, depending on if they live North or South of that border). Debt load is huge. I have no idea how I am going to pull off the next year, with the new baby, the full time job, the wife, the house we are renting, the school, the 4-year old. Not to mention a lawsuit. It is a logistical nightmare.

I have no resolution to this, and won't for a long time. I don't see any of this changing fast, and tomorrow - will have to wait. Until then, I hope to close my eyes tonight and see a boy, a dog, a beautiful blue sky with white vapor mist, and a shady spot to step out of time and touch eternity. Be here now.

P.S. My wife once lost her book "Be Here Now." I said "Forget about it." A way-homer for you.