The Adventure of Change

Adventure, as I’ve often said, comes in many forms and guises. This past week, for example, I found myself in the middle of quite the unexpected adventure, down at the Sun ‘N Fun air show in Lakeland, Florida, when a tornado came howling across the airport. I was fortunate, in that I was already standing inside one of the big and fairly sturdy exhibit hangars there, a few yards back from the sliding, 30-foot-tall hangar door, when the tornado and associated microbursts hit.
The National Weather Service termed it a fairly small tornado, as those things go, although that’s a bit like someone telling you that the creature that just attacked you was a fairly small Great White Shark. Tornadoes, like Great Whites, don’t come in benign sizes.
Be that as it may, both the weather and the crowd’s response to it were fascinating events. It made me wonder, once again, how the human race has survived this long, given that our curiosity and desire to be close to the action seem to outweigh our instinct for personal safety. It was also an adventure, in that the outcome of all this meteorological fury was not at all certain (especially when water began pouring through the roof of the hangar). The YouTube videos do not begin to convey the intensity of being up close and personal to that kind of natural phenomenon—impenetrable sheets of rain and 95-mph winds that lifted exhibit tents, airplanes, and objects off the ground and launched them through the air as if they were matchstick toys. From that point on, every person at the show faced the adventurer’s dilemmas of choosing from questionable options and figuring a path forward based on incomplete information, in a land suddenly wiped clean of any clear path.
Stay in the hangar? Or risk getting caught out in the open while seeking sturdier shelter? Attempt to leave the show? Or avoid roads that might be blocked with downed wires and trees? And for the hundreds of people whose wares or tents or airplanes were destroyed in those frighteningly wild 10 minutes, there was the added shock of loss and the dilemma of … what next?
In the end, however, while there was a jaw-dropping amount of property damage, nobody was killed or even seriously hurt. So, there’s a lot to be thankful for in the luck and happenstance of that. All I can say is, I have a newfound respect for the power of Mother Nature to simply obliterate everything in her path. Which is a feeling the entire nation of Japan undoubtedly shares with me, these days.
But all of the excitement of the tornado almost eclipsed the other adventure I undertook this week, and which was announced at the Sun ‘N Fun air show: namely, that I have left Flying magazine and am moving my “Flying Lessons” column to Sport Aviation, the official magazine of the Experimental Aircraft Association, or EAA.
I made the decision to leave Flying almost two months ago—although, because of the lead times involved in magazine production, my “farewell” column only arrived on most readers’ doorsteps this week. And I want to thank the many people who have already written emails to me thanking me for my many stories there, over the past 12 years. Even though I’ve been a published writer for more than 20 years, now, it’s still something of an odd process, to press the “send” button on a story or essay and send it out into the universe, vaguely knowing that many people will probably read it, even though I don’t know who they are, and will most likely never know what they thought of it.
So I really, really, really appreciate all the kind words from people, this week, that let me know that my words had found a home in some other people’s lives, as well.
 Not surprisingly, however, many of those people were also perplexed at why I’d make such a move. To which I would only respond … if you sat down and had a conversation with Rod Hightower, the new president of EAA, you wouldn’t wonder anymore.
For anyone not familiar, the EAA started as a group of “homebuilders,” which is to say, people who build their own airplanes. But in the past half century, the EAA has grown to be much more than that. Over the years, it’s  added special divisions for people who own classic, antique and former military (warbird) aircraft. And its annual fly-in convention in Oshkosh, Wisconsin (now officially called “AirVenture”), has become both an international event and a major trade show where many general aviation companies now choose to announce their new products and services. Some twelve thousand airplanes and 500,000 people attend the convention every year, representing an international community far wider than just experimental, homebuilt, classic, antique or warbird aircraft owners.
The membership of EAA is upwards of 170,000 and growing by 115 members a week. (Growing being the operative word, there, given that aviation has been in something of a decline since the recession, and the publishing industry has been in a precipitous freefall for longer, even, than that.) But to help the organization expand and evolve to better reflect its more diverse membership, while doing everything it can to inspire new pilots to take up flying, while reminding everyone else why it was they took up flying in the first place … Paul and Tom Poberezny (founders) and the board of EAA brought in a new president.
Rod Hightower has spent most of his career managing and turning around Fortune 500 companies. But he also “gets it” in terms of what’s so magical about this thing called flying—perhaps because he owns both a Stearman biplane and a North American T-6 WWII trainer. The end result is a man with a broad, international vision who’s still passionate about the rewards and possibilities of flight. Oh, yes. And who really values people.
Top among the goals Rod said he had for the EAA was to make the organization and its magazine reflect the growing diversity, breadth and reach of its annual AirVenture convention. He also wanted the organization to do a better job of building bridges between the pilots and non-pilots and actively ease the way for more people to get involved in aviation. What that meant, he explained, was that he was in the market for a writer who could convey passion, help build bridges of common understanding between pilots and non-pilots, highlight human stories, and who was willing to go find adventures around the world that would remind pilots (and show potential new pilots) where flying could take them and the experiences and learning it could bring within their reach. 
And yes, that sounded an awful lot like me. For starters, I am a missionary believer in the importance of passion. I also always look for the universal in the specific; for the common threads that link any flying adventure to not only other types of adventure, but to universal human emotions, dreams, and experiences. In truth, if you were to identify the core idea that drives my passion for flying, it would be a desire to explore the world and learn all I can about the human experience and what both connects and divides us. That, and a desire to live as fully as I can, for whatever time I have here.
If I still fly after 25 years (25 years to the day, in fact, on Wednesday), it’s because airplanes have proved themselves useful tools in accomplishing those goals. But as Lance Armstrong would say, “it’s not about the plane.” For me, it’s always been about passion, people, and exploration. I’ve also always wanted to be involved in groups and projects that were focused less on living within the limits in front of them than on creative ways to overcome those limits, so they could explore all the possibilities that might exist beyond those walls. After all, the ability to transcend limits is a big part of what makes flying so appealing and magical in the first place.
A large part of finding and keeping work you love, and a path with heart, is matching yourself with places and groups of people that resonate with your style, values, and goals.  The group has to see and appreciate what you bring to the table, and you have to feel as if your vision and theirs are in sync, and the environment is one in which your voice and style will thrive. That’s what fuels passion, enthusiasm, and great achievements.
When those conditions don’t exist where you are, it’s time to leave, even if that means undertaking the uncertain adventure of change. The good news is … if you stay true to your heart, and are clear about what your style, values, and goals are … you will always find kindred sprits out there.