There isn’t much.
I’ve been noticing this rather odd fact when occasionally reviewing my mental state. I guess there are several reasons for this. The simple answer may be that I’ve finally gotten mature enough not to make myself crazy. Considering how little success I have with that in other areas though, there must be more to it.
Some of it, I’m sure, is awareness of what I’m giving up. I’m leaving a woman I love (a lot). She’ll be joining me from time to time and I’ll be coming back to Portland frequently but, let’s face it, I’m going to be seeing much less of her. I’m also leaving a comfortable life, too comfortable. Unless the sea gets me, I’m going to live a lot longer under my current plan.
To get to the heart of the matter, I think I have to go back to my flying days. Whenever I was aloft during my first few years of flying small planes, there would always be a little guy in my head jumping up and down and yelling, “LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT ME, I’M FLYING AN AIRPLANE!” He eventually calmed down, shut up, and just started keeping an eye on the EGT gauge. Flying became less of an adventure and more just me being a guy getting into a machine, doing what needed to be done, and going somewhere.
The unexpected thing about flying becoming more like driving a car was that it actually became a much richer experience. Feeling calm, centered, and comfortable in the cockpit was much more enjoyable than listening to that damn yapping in my head. Being at home in the air was more profound than feeling like I was walking down a dangerous street.
I covered over 4000 miles in the last two seasons and I never felt so at home as when I was on the boat. I’ve been working nearly full time all this year on the huge re-fit. I’ll be doing other refits before this is over, probably right here. It that way, the adventure has really already begun. Maybe the real reason I’m not feeling more anticipation is that I’m already there.
I’ve been noticing this rather odd fact when occasionally reviewing my mental state. I guess there are several reasons for this. The simple answer may be that I’ve finally gotten mature enough not to make myself crazy. Considering how little success I have with that in other areas though, there must be more to it.
Some of it, I’m sure, is awareness of what I’m giving up. I’m leaving a woman I love (a lot). She’ll be joining me from time to time and I’ll be coming back to Portland frequently but, let’s face it, I’m going to be seeing much less of her. I’m also leaving a comfortable life, too comfortable. Unless the sea gets me, I’m going to live a lot longer under my current plan.
To get to the heart of the matter, I think I have to go back to my flying days. Whenever I was aloft during my first few years of flying small planes, there would always be a little guy in my head jumping up and down and yelling, “LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT ME, I’M FLYING AN AIRPLANE!” He eventually calmed down, shut up, and just started keeping an eye on the EGT gauge. Flying became less of an adventure and more just me being a guy getting into a machine, doing what needed to be done, and going somewhere.
The unexpected thing about flying becoming more like driving a car was that it actually became a much richer experience. Feeling calm, centered, and comfortable in the cockpit was much more enjoyable than listening to that damn yapping in my head. Being at home in the air was more profound than feeling like I was walking down a dangerous street.
I covered over 4000 miles in the last two seasons and I never felt so at home as when I was on the boat. I’ve been working nearly full time all this year on the huge re-fit. I’ll be doing other refits before this is over, probably right here. It that way, the adventure has really already begun. Maybe the real reason I’m not feeling more anticipation is that I’m already there.
