Falling out of love

I still remember my first flight, my first landing. It was the 18th of October 2003. A clear, crisp day with only a few clouds in the sky. I was flying the little nose-cone-less Cessna 150 with no transponder, nav radio or heating but I had one of the best instructors I have ever had the privilege of flying with sitting beside me.

We took off, fooled around a bit turning, climbing and descending, then came back to land on CYYG's runway 21. I flew the PAPI on the 3 mile final and controlled the plane all the way to the landing which I remember was flapless and quite good considering... I had fallen in love with one of the most beautiful things a human can do: fly.

Fast forward 7-and-a-bit years. I'm sitting by the Indian Ocean, in the sweltering heat with clouds of mosquitos all around me suffering from my now monthly sinus infection. I have been flying what I believe is one of the most beautiful, agile, amazing commercial aeroplanes in operation for 2 years now and I have been in exile for 2 years as well. I have met many amazing people, made good friends and I don't regret most of it ... but I'm still in exile, living for work.

People tell me I'm so lucky to be living my dream of being a pilot.. Dream yes, but is it a good dream? The exhilarating tingle I used to feel whenever we took off is gone, the enjoyment of flying a perfect path approach is gone, the wonder of looking outside and seeing earth as only few can see it is gone. All I can think of now is getting the wretched paperwork over with as soon as possible so I can get back to my book and try not to fall asleep. Even the sunrises and sunsets - my once ultimate drug - all seem somewhat drab.

I may be living a dream but it's certainly not my dream anymore... I seem to have fallen out of love with flying.

S.