The Story of my First Training Flight.
By: Jonathan Taylor
Tags: Self Improvement, Aviation, Success, Self Help, Psychology

My first flight.

Part one of a series about the lessons learned over four months while earning my pilot’s license in 2020.

The Irresponsible Child

I was nervous as we walked to the plane that day in August, not because I was scared of death or injury, but because deep down, I didn’t believe I had it in me to be a pilot even though it was my childhood dream. I grew up in a small town after my Dad retired from the Air Force as a truck mechanic. I would often watch the planes flying overhead in wonder. I signed up for every ride-along that I could.

As a teenager, those who knew me knew that I was a bit irresponsible and impulsive. For example, I once saw a donkey while driving a rural road and decided to see if I could jump from the fence and ride it. I barely escaped with my life. Like many of us, I didn’t make wise decisions, and I was regularly finding myself in tight spots. I was reminded of this whenever I would vocalize a dream of doing something big by most adults in my life.

Doubting myself continued into adulthood as I desperately tried to prove to the world and myself that I had changed, but it didn’t come naturally. I had a limiting belief that my parents, teachers, professors, pastors, and friends were all correct in their assertions that my relationship with responsibility was tenuous at best. Even as I enjoyed a measure of professional and personal success, I had a nagging thought in my mind that I was not the kind of person to be trusted. I didn’t deserve what I had earned.

I guess you could say that I had impostor syndrome. All evidence pointed to the fact that I was very responsible, trustworthy, and capable. I had accomplished almost anything I set out to do but believing it was another story. As I excelled in starting my creative agency, won awards for photography, married a beautiful woman, spoke to large audiences, and made money, I still felt like I was pretending to be the kind of guy that could. After all, I am a smart-aleck man-boy. Right?

You Can Trust a Pilot

Along the way, my journey took me to Alaska. I found myself on the board of directors of an aviation non-profit, taking photos out of airplanes for clients, and hanging out in hangars. When my company launched an online flight school for a client, I traveled the US interviewing pilots. I had the good fortune to be in the company of bush pilots, airline pilots, recreational pilots, and those who fly for a cause. I started to see something in them that I wanted to be: Good decision making. Confidence. Swagger. You can trust a pilot.

Imagine my horror that day when I neared the training aircraft, headset in hand with an instructor, as he directed me to sit in the left seat.

For the uninitiated, the left seat is the driver’s seat. Even though there are two yokes (the steering wheel in a plane), one in front of each seat, the controls indicate that the left side is the important one. “Climb in!” Caleb, my instructor, told me, “you are in the left seat today.” “Are you sure?” He was sure. “You can do it; you are the pilot.”(1) My mind raced- this man doesn’t know me well enough. No way he would entrust me with this plane and with his life.

Caleb showed me how to taxi to the runway. He showed me how to brake and prepare for take-off. Showed me the throttle, mixture, instruments, and the rudders. Caleb talked me through what it took to fly. I was enthralled.

It was time for him to take over and demonstrate the complexities of taking off, flying, and landing. I was excited to watch. Surprisingly, that isn’t what happened.

My hands were in control as I pushed the throttle to full speed, feeling the powerful thrust as we sped down the runway. It was me that pulled back on the yoke, and I was the cause of the plane lifting into the sky for the first time.

If you haven’t felt this moment, it is nearly impossible to describe. The realization that the ground has been a prison keeping us pinned to reality and denying us the freedom to soar unfettered. Memories of the first time I stepped into the sky still give me goosebumps.

Now aloft, and in control, I turned us towards another runway at Caleb’s instruction, and most terrifying of all to a brain limited by mental self-immolation- I landed on that runway.

Me.

I did that.

I walked away from the plane, shaking with emotion. I knew something had fundamentally changed in me. I hurriedly told my wife what I had just done, in total wonder. I had just flown a frickin plane. I took off, piloted an airplane, and landed. It wasn’t pretty, or skilled, or safe, but I did it.

The Imposter

Imposter syndrome is “a psychological phenomenon in which people are unable to internalize their accomplishments.” Coined by clinical psychologists Pauline Clance and Suzanne Imes in 1978, when they found that despite having adequate external evidence of accomplishments, people with imposter syndrome remained convinced that they don’t deserve the success they have.(2)

I didn’t believe I deserved anything that I had achieved up until that point. I had such heavy self-limiting thoughts that I often sabotaged my success. I was going to fail anyway; why even try? I only applied myself when there was some guarantee of a positive outcome.

“False beliefs become an issue when they are held as true.”(3) Changing a false belief about yourself is extremely difficult. Once ingrained, the thought isn’t just an abstract force; it’s your reality. If told that a pool is heated, most people will still dip their toes into the water to change that reality into a belief. Similarly, any limiting belief will often stay a limiting belief until we do something that changes our perception of what is real.

“False and limiting beliefs are like parasites: they stay inactive in the mind until some thought or event triggers their response. Then they impede people’s ability to think sensibly and rationally, and they affect perceptions and perspectives in a pernicious manner.”(4) In other words, the way we think determines the way we behave.

I walked away from the plane that day as a person that could. I knew I could learn the detailed information to pass the required written exam, even though I was “bad at math and mechanically challenged.” I knew that I could develop the motor skills to pilot a plane even though I was “un-athletic and awkward.” I knew that, even outside the world of aviation, I could do anything I wanted. I told myself that I was responsible. After what I just did, the voice inside my head said to myself that I can be trusted.

And for the first time, I believed me.

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