Lessons Learned: A Different Kind Of Slow Flight

However, what if the very skills that keep us aloft are the same techniques that can help us engage with stress and frantic pace of life in a way that allows us to be present with those we love the most? What if there was a way to apply the focus and discipline of aviation to cope with an often overwhelming and never-ending "to do" list? 

With the right perspective, the training and practice that goes into becoming a proficient pilot can also make us more adept at handling stress and pressure in our daily lives. While being airborne is an escape from everyday stress, with a little reflection, the skill we use to navigate the skies can be directly applied to help us navigate the stressors from which we are hoping to escape.

My work now as a professional counselor is very different from my years instructing and working as a commercial airline pilot. However, I am often struck by how the lessons learned in flying trickle over to other areas of life. More than most, pilots understand the importance of communication, strategic planning, decision-making, priority management and principles of risk management. We know the danger of distractions and the deadly nature of focusing on the wrong thing at the wrong time. All of the above skills contribute to success in leadership, business and relationships. Aviation affects more than our hobbies and pastimes (and our wallets); it becomes a way of approaching life. 

I sometimes wish therapy clients had more exposure to the skills learned and practiced through learning to fly. Situational awareness, communication and visualization are all skills adaptable to relationships. Additionally, they give us common language and metaphors through which to talk about life and love! 

One of the significant applications of aviation principles to stress management came when I was in my early 20s. After years of instructing, I took a job as a first officer with a regional airline. Moving from piston aircraft to turbofan jet engines was quite a jump. The plane was faster, the airports were busier, and the consequences of making a mistake were much higher. The increased speed and complexity meant that things could go wrong more quickly than in anything I had experienced. 

 The correlation between complexity and margin of error applies to families and organizations, not just airplanes and ATC systems. The bigger the family or organization, the smaller the margin of error. The faster your life or organization moves, the further ahead you have to look and the more physically and mentally prepared you have to be.  

During my initial airline training, after weeks of studying systems and procedures, it was time for my first check ride to achieve the coveted type rating. Like most aviation lessons, the more I reflect and apply them, the more they make me a better pilot, a better husband, a better father, and an all-around better man. 

Like most commercial airline check rides, I took mine in a full-motion simulator. My sim-partner was a retired captain named Lee. It seemed that Lee had flown just about every type of plane in all sorts of weather, and most of it before the invention of GPS. A critical part of the check ride was demonstrating the ability to handle an engine failure following takeoff at low altitude (one of the most dangerous times to have an engine failure). I knew it was coming, but I didn't know when. I was anxious. The margin for error was small, and so much was riding the success of this simulator flight: weeks of training, weeks of being gone from home, a desire to start flying the line and see the fulfillment of a goal. 

I don't remember exactly when during the check ride it happened, but as we rotated off the runway into the clouds, bells started ringing; lights were flashing, and my heart was pounding. My right engine was on fire. I had memorized this procedure. I knew what to do and what to say. My first task was to announce the engine failure, place my hand on the associated thrust lever and ask my co-pilot to verify I had the correct thrust lever. I was supposed to say, "Right engine thrust lever, verify" but what came out was more like "rightenginethrustleververify." The words tumbled from my mouth faster than I ever thought possible. 

And there it was, aviation mimicking life. As responsibilities, mortgages and families grow, so does the stress level. Life moves at a pace that is blisteringly fast; there seems to be no way out, no redo on some of life's most important decisions. Life happens, something hits the proverbial (turbo) fan, and we find ourselves having to navigate an ever-changing situation successfully with innocent people relying on us.  

In the moments that followed, Lee would teach me about airplanes, emergencies, life and parenting. With what seemed like sloth-like speed, he turned toward me, looked down at the thrust levers and looked at me again. Then, in a measured southern drawl, he gave the response I was expecting: "Right engine thrust lever! !verified." 

It was as if Lee was slowing down time. I was panicked and felt myself starting to rush things to get them over. The plane was still gaining speed and altitude. It was then that I realized what Lee was doing. He knew that costly mistakes could happen if we moved too fast. He was aware of the danger of shutting down the wrong engine. He knew that the plane could fly just fine on one engine but that it wouldn't fly well with a panicked pilot. A professional calm came over me --- the kind that only comes from training and drilling. While the plane was still quickly accelerating (I still had to make sure I would break the speed limit), we had a lot to do in a short amount of time. However, I was no longer rushed. We operated as a crew. We took action. We handled the emergency and landed safely.

To this day I am thankful that Lee was my partner, and not just because of how the flight test turned out (I passed). The lessons Lee taught me that day surpassed usefulness in handling airplanes. He showed me that when life is moving fast, mistakes are costly, and the best thing we can do is to remain unhurried. The speed of life, like the speed of the plane that day, can be blisteringly fast. Add an emergency or an unsuspected event, and things can feel overwhelming and oppressive very quickly. The speed of life remains the same. However, the pace at which I operate is controllable. The pace of life is an internal state of being. When we pace ourselves, we can prioritize and execute more effectively than just reacting. I can see what's most important and do it. 

As your life speeds up and the number of moving parts increases, there will inevitably be more demands on your time than hours available to meet those demands. While you can't change the speed or the unexpected events of life, perhaps we can all learn from Lee and slow down inside. When chaos abounds, we can learn to respond from an internal calm rather than to external pressures. "Slipping the surly bonds of earth" will for many of us remain an escape and a way of gaining a new perspective. The serenity of an early-morning flight as the sun rises over the horizon will remain a sanctuary. 

However, when you return to the stress and pressure of life, continue to use the skills that help you stay focused and aware in the airplane in your life. Skills of being focused, fully present and unhurried. The pace of life and emergencies is more related to our ability to be present than the number of things we have to do or the time in which we have to do them. Slowing down the pace of life actually enables us to be more efficient and effective in a response to the tasks of life. 

Lee, wherever you are, thank you. Thanks for teaching me to operate a jet, but mostly thanks for teaching me a valuable lesson about life. Although we can never control the speed of life, the internal pace at which we approach is something we can control.