When fear turns into passion
Noises…, yes, sudden, unexpected noises, and perhaps even more so inexplicable noises really terrified me when I was a kid. Thunder, firecrackers, an abrupt backfire of an old bike, oh man… I was petrified. If I feared a repeat performance, like during an electrical storm, fireworks, or a bike race, I ran for cover.
Where did this change come from?
Out of the blue, literally. There was no pilot, no flying in my family – none of my parents, brothers, uncles or aunts had any relation to the sky. I was – and am – the “weird” one, the outlier.
From that day on I wanted to become a pilot, of course, flying big airplanes to places far away. And anybody who took me to the “visitor-fence” of the airport became my favorite uncle.
My preferred toys were model airplanes, later I read every book about flying, airplanes and pilots I could get a hold of and never let go of my goal to become a professional pilot.
Life, however, had other plans and in the end I became a physicist.
Alas, my passion for flying never subsided. But instead of driving Air-buses around the world on schedule, I learned to fly gliders. That way I got to know the sky in a much more intimate way, and fell in love with what a lot of pros call the best way to fly.
Dancing with the wind, playing among clouds, enjoying what the interplay of Nature’s forces with advanced aerodynamics offered, that’s what I spent most of my free time on. Whenever I slid into the cockpit of my long-winged beauty and closed the canopy I felt at home, felt (the embrace of) an intense enthusiasm for what was about to come.
Wow, that last sentence could very well serve as (my) definition of passion, I guess.
Back in the days of my first toy airplanes (photo above) I didn’t know what passion is, my relatives called me “airplane-crazy”, and since the word “airplane” was involved I didn’t mind the “crazy”.
No flying dreams in those times, the only ones I remember were of the boogie man.