Flying Solo :: Flying Planes Personal Narratives Essays

Flying Solo To sidereal day is the day of my start-off zaping lesson. For the last month I have been putting together a model of the Spirit of St. Louis, the plane Charles Lindbergh used to fly from to New York to Paris in May of 1927, the first transatlantic flight. I love putting together models I love the intense parsimoniousness it requires, the knot of tension that forms at the back of my neck, the dizzying smell of glue. Charles Lindbergh was not the first pilot to attempt this flight, but he was the first to attempt it alone. completely those who went before him had gone with flight crews and enormous quantities of equipment, and all of them had failed or died trying. Lindbergh had no crew, no radio, no parachute, no life raft, no food, one dry quart of water. He told reporters, If I make it to Paris I wont need anything more, and if I dont make it I wont need anything more either. He even whoop the borders off of his map with a razor blade. It was this si mplicity that enabled him to succeed. I requisite to find that simplicity in my own life, to pare everything down to the leach essentials. But I cant. Small pieces, spare parts, keep turning up in corners and under furniture. I think flying leave lift me up and away from all the things that clutter up a life. When I arrive at Pulliam airport and look out everyplace the rows of airplanes I feel so light that I might fellate away. I pay for the lesson with my Visa and shove the receipt into the pocket of my jeans. The wait room is filled with orange plastic chairs. Waiting always takes on the same quality, no matter where I am or what I am waiting for. Its the feeling of being trapped in time, removed from the rest of life. No matter what I do, like a reading a book or magazine, I can never forget that Im waiting. I used to wait for my contract every Sunday afternoon, sitting and staring out the window spell time froze all around me.