There are times in life when small moments become epochal events in one's personal history. Outsiders looking at you would pause and wonder why such a moment would have such a profound effect. There is no window to the soul, and in the barrier that exists between us and most of those around us, the truth cannot be plumbed. It is ours alone to discover and understand.
I had such a moment yesterday. Since Taylor's death, my life has been rocky. His death wasn't the cause, but it was a contributing factor, one whose tremors sent ripples through every aspect of who I am and where I wanted to go. I have been daring and have taken risks I probably never would have taken otherwise. It has been an aggressive approach to life that has flamed me to a crisp twice. No matter. I'm not through with that game. Life needs to be lived with conscious passion. Moments, small and grand, must be experienced. Otherwise, we're only treading water and waiting to die, a life wasted through inaction and fear. That is not for me.
Yesterday, I rode an Oregon National Guard Blackhawk from Salem to Pendleton and back. Some of those aboard the flight slept. This was old hat to them, ninety minutes each way to be endured. I understand that. This was part of their routine, nothing more. For me, it was the culmination of a dream I'd had since New Orleans almost five years ago.
Captain Stephen Bomar and Technical Sergeant Nick Choy set this up for me, and I owe them a huge debt. They were flat-out awesome the entire time, and made sure that on the way back I sat in the gunner's seat, window open, so that I could lean into the slipstream and take photographs.
Can a couple of ninety minute flights change a life? Why not? I sat in that helicopter as we sped over the Cascades and marveled at the beauty around us. The vibrations in the cabin were totally unlike a commerial airliner or light plane, and their newness kept me engaged the entire time we stayed aloft.
I had forgotten how much I love to fly. Since I stepped off the flight at PANG after Katrina, I've been in the air only once in the past five years. Yesterday's journey reawakened that passion and I embraced it like a long lost flame. I cannot wait to get aloft again.
As we threaded our way through the mountains, I left behind all the concerns, tension and drama of my life in the valley to our six. Getting separated from them, if even only briefly, lent a perspective to my life that has been sorely lacking. I felt refreshed; the smile never faded. As the majesty of my adopted state rolled past below, I saw a vision of where I need to be in the months to come.
It isn't in my office; it is out in the field, writing about the men and women who fly these incredible types of machines, or who are carried into harm's way by their rotors. Their stories will be my passion; it will be my fulfillment. And in the journey that I will share with them in the months to come, I will bring all the talent, skill and dedication I have to my craft and profession to ensure that they are honored properly.
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