don't ever let anyone else define you - part deux
I realized last night that both of my examples yesterday involved people of a female persuasion. Lest anyone think this is a purely female affliction, let me offer up the following...also based on a true story...
The year was 1980. I was in flight school, but pretty much over the hump. I was close to finishing and could almost touch my wings. This was a fairly stupid time in my life where alcohol was concerned. We would caravan from beautiful downtown Milton, Florida, on the 25 mile road to Pensacola every Friday night. You see, as beautiful as downtown Milton was, it was also dry. There were no bars. Yet, a scant 25 mile drive away was bustling Pensacola, and McGuire's Irish Pub...popular hangout of future Naval Aviators, and women hoping to meet future Naval Aviators. If you follow the logic, you can see that this exercise led to more than one 25 mile drive under the influence to get home, but I digress.
One night in McGuire's, I was having several adult beverages with my friends, and someone asked me if I'd go talk to this guy. He was all depressed and he had decided to D.O.R. (Drop On Request - ie. quit). So, half lit, I went over and introduced myself. He was a young marine who was just starting flight school. The beginning of flight school is all academics. You don't start the actual flying part for a few months. He was struggling with the books. Aerodynamics and meteorology were kicking his ass, and some marine drill instructor had pretty much asked him to do himself and everyone else a favor, D.O.R. and fill a spot in the infantry. He was ready to march in to the administrative offices first thing Monday morning and take the drill instructor's advice.
I asked him, "How bad do you want to fly?"
He said, "I've dreamed of it since I was 5 years old."
"So, why are you ready to give up on it before you ever sit in a cockpit? You're ready to chuck it all because some D.I said you're not good enough. Why? What made him the expert on what you can do? You haven't failed...yet. You haven't got to the point where they throw you out. You're about to let someone else tell you to quit before you fail. If you do that, you did fail. If you stay here, and you get to the point where you flunk out of flight school, what's the absolute worst thing that they do to you? Where do they send you?"
"I'd go to the infantry."
"OK, so you're about to voluntarily take your worst possible option. Don't do them that favor. Make them kick your ass out...or at least follow this dream until you're actually flying airplanes. If then you decide you'd rather be in the infantry, fine. Go that route. But give this a chance before you up and quit. Don't let them just tell you you aren't good enough and get you to leave without giving it your best shot."
Yeah, I was on my drunk soapbox that night.
Seven years later, I was finishing my tour in Pensacola as a flight instructor. A new guy showed up. Part of my job, at that point, was to train new flight instructors. I honestly didn't remember him, but he remembered me. It was the same marine...and he pulled me aside, and thanked me for that drunken soapbox Friday night, when I talked him into sticking it out in flight school. He was about to start teaching it.
The year was 1980. I was in flight school, but pretty much over the hump. I was close to finishing and could almost touch my wings. This was a fairly stupid time in my life where alcohol was concerned. We would caravan from beautiful downtown Milton, Florida, on the 25 mile road to Pensacola every Friday night. You see, as beautiful as downtown Milton was, it was also dry. There were no bars. Yet, a scant 25 mile drive away was bustling Pensacola, and McGuire's Irish Pub...popular hangout of future Naval Aviators, and women hoping to meet future Naval Aviators. If you follow the logic, you can see that this exercise led to more than one 25 mile drive under the influence to get home, but I digress.
One night in McGuire's, I was having several adult beverages with my friends, and someone asked me if I'd go talk to this guy. He was all depressed and he had decided to D.O.R. (Drop On Request - ie. quit). So, half lit, I went over and introduced myself. He was a young marine who was just starting flight school. The beginning of flight school is all academics. You don't start the actual flying part for a few months. He was struggling with the books. Aerodynamics and meteorology were kicking his ass, and some marine drill instructor had pretty much asked him to do himself and everyone else a favor, D.O.R. and fill a spot in the infantry. He was ready to march in to the administrative offices first thing Monday morning and take the drill instructor's advice.
I asked him, "How bad do you want to fly?"
He said, "I've dreamed of it since I was 5 years old."
"So, why are you ready to give up on it before you ever sit in a cockpit? You're ready to chuck it all because some D.I said you're not good enough. Why? What made him the expert on what you can do? You haven't failed...yet. You haven't got to the point where they throw you out. You're about to let someone else tell you to quit before you fail. If you do that, you did fail. If you stay here, and you get to the point where you flunk out of flight school, what's the absolute worst thing that they do to you? Where do they send you?"
"I'd go to the infantry."
"OK, so you're about to voluntarily take your worst possible option. Don't do them that favor. Make them kick your ass out...or at least follow this dream until you're actually flying airplanes. If then you decide you'd rather be in the infantry, fine. Go that route. But give this a chance before you up and quit. Don't let them just tell you you aren't good enough and get you to leave without giving it your best shot."
Yeah, I was on my drunk soapbox that night.
Seven years later, I was finishing my tour in Pensacola as a flight instructor. A new guy showed up. Part of my job, at that point, was to train new flight instructors. I honestly didn't remember him, but he remembered me. It was the same marine...and he pulled me aside, and thanked me for that drunken soapbox Friday night, when I talked him into sticking it out in flight school. He was about to start teaching it.
Labels: Philosophy
John put this out here at 7:16 AM
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