There is a very specific, hollow kind of friction that builds up when you want to do something and spend every available hour talking yourself out of it.
Lately, I've been finding every good excuse in the book not to fly - you know the sound of them, kids, finances, homework, career work. Every reason felt airtight, logical, and entirely responsible.
And yet, sitting in my therapy chair across the years, I’ve listened to hundreds of people talk about the exact same instinct. They talk about the dreams they shelved, the adventures they postponed, the bold leaps they calculated right out of existence. They give me all the brilliant, bulletproof reasons they found not to take the risk—until one day, life shifts, time runs out, and they don’t need excuses anymore. The window simply closes.
I knew that truth intimately, and still, I was letting the fear win.
When I started Fly 2 for Nathalia, it didn't begin as some grand, polished movement. It began because I was overwhelmed and confused, and I didn't know what to do with the heavy, jagged weight of a young life cut short. Nathalia should have been looking toward her 21st birthday this January. Instead, her family was left navigating an unimaginable silence. I wanted to stop my own fear, to make some sort of sense of a senseless tragedy. It started as a thought in the shower as the hot water trickled down my back…I’m going to fly 21 hours between now and her birthday… It was an action born of pure discomfort—a desperate need to move when everything inside me wanted to freeze.
But then, the initiative started to gain wings. And as it did, my hope shifted outward. I kept thinking about her family, and how I hoped they would see her legacy being written in the clouds—hundreds of female aviators taking to the sky in her honor. I know it doesn't bring her back. Nothing ever will. But my deepest prayer is that seeing her spirit carried aloft by a community of pilots might bring them even a small measure of peace.
.5 in the log
If I was going to ask others to step up, I had to break the paralysis myself. I had to face the runway.
My first flight back was only 0.5 hours. I took my Cub up over a small, familiar lake nearby—one of my absolute favorite golden hour flight runs. When I opened the door to the Cub the smell hit me. It’s the smell of Poptart, the smell of flying. It’s aviation fuel and engine grease and nearly 100 years of metal tubing, wrapped tight with fabric.
To be completely honest, I was rusty. Finding my feet felt foreign…I stabbed the rudders while I taxi’d trying to remember how to work those heel brakes. I had flown less than 10 hours in the past few months, but the cockpit felt simultaneously like home and like a stranger’s living room. The muscle memory kicked in, and for the first time in a long time - I greased the landing, and the moment I taxied off the active runway, I felt the tears welling up. It was a messy, complicated mixed bag of relief, exhaustion, sadness, and pure joy. The physical weight I’d been carrying for months literally lifted the moment the wheels left the tarmac.
For my next flight, I pushed a little further out, heading toward a bigger lake in the area. That flight felt different; the rust started to shake off. I found a deep, quiet peace up there, just listening to the familiar hum of the engine, testing myself on some turns around a point, and holding my altitude and airspeed, simple things…that new pilots do. Ironically, I feel like a new pilot every time I fly, because truly, there’s always something new. I logged 0.75.
I’m currently sitting at 1.25 out of my 21-hour commitment, and there is plenty more to come. Stand by for updates.
Join Me in the Sky
Between now and Nathalia’s 21st birthday in January, I am going to chronicle my own 21-hour commitment right here on this blog—the good flights, the rusty moments, the views from the cockpit, and everything in between.
More than that, I hope you'll join me.
Whether you’re a seasoned pilot with thousands of hours under your belt or someone who has been finding brilliant, logical excuses to stay on the ground, let’s do this together. Log your hours, step past the hesitation, and let’s write a young aviator's legacy across the sky.
Fly 2 for Nathalia—help us ring in her 21st birthday in flight hours- we're aiming for 183,960 hours.
