Broken Wings: A journey from heartbreak to happiness

About a year ago, I penned a post about healing post-divorce and the journey I had taken in the aftermath.  There I declared publicly that I was single, happy, and not actively pursuing love. It was a personal affirmation, a promise to myself that I would not chase love purely for the sake of falling in love. I did not, and still do not, see love and relationships as a trophy or prize, meant to be attained at any cost. A relationship should not be the be all and end all of ones life goals and by no means, should it be a cure for heartbreak. I affirmed that when I fell in love again, it would only be after I had taken adequate time to understand what had happened to me and why and to come to terms with my own flaws,  heartache, humiliation, and the immense blow to my self-esteem. Then, and only then, could my heart be open to love and trust again.

That affirmation was still firmly in my mind when I walked out on the tarmac of a small municipal airport with my daughter one beautiful spring afternoon. It was her 11^th birthday. The year before, she had begun taking flying lessons at a small flight school, a hobby that I, as a long-time aviation lover and employee, indulged with pleasure and enthusiasm. Sadly, her flight instructor, which whom she had developed trust and friendship, had moved on to seek his dream of being an airline pilot just a few weeks before, leaving me to scramble to find another instructor willing to take on such a young student in time for her promised birthday flight.

That search was how I met Mark.

A small airplane taxied into position as she and I walked out onto the ramp. This would be the first time either of us had met him, and as mother who would have to put full faith and trust in his flying ability, I was understandably nervous. Nearly as important as his flying ability, was how well he would interact with her. Would he treat her like a student or a spectator? A pupil or a paycheck? Or worse, would he realize that the school wasn’t joking about her age and back out?

My concerns about his personality, at least, were put to rest. The airplanes engine shut down and a man popped out of the cockpit, did a pirouette, took a bow and greeted my daughter in French. She looked up at me over the rims of her sunglasses, logbook in her arms and pink flight bag dangling off of her shoulder and stated “Great. He’s broken.”

Maybe!

Her birthday flight went well, and this new, broken, flight instructor had proven himself to be the competent, patient, and skilled pilot that I was hoping for and, even better, he was willing to fly with her again. When her lesson was over (and my wallet thoroughly pillaged!) we bid each other farewell, I took his phone number and that was that.

Well, that was that until a few days later.

The first hot day of the year came upon us unseasonably early. Early enough that I was flatly opposed to turning on my homes air conditioner. Still, even with the windows open it had become oppressively hot. In a bid to find some relief, I texted my next door neighbor and long time friend to ask to borrow a fan.

Ten minutes later, Mark texted back.

Yes, Ladies and gentlemen, thinking I was talking to my sailor-mouthed neighbor, I had instead texted my daughters new flight instructor, with a vulgar analogy comparing the temperature in my house to the undergarments of a certain hell-dwelling overlord.

Wild apologies were thrown back, followed by a return volley of “No problems” and “It’s oks.” That in turn lead to a conversation about the weather, and then about work, and then health. Before I knew it, an hour had gone by and I was still sitting in the kitchen.

And I still didn’t have a fan.

That first, accidental conversation led to another the following evening, and again the day after that. It led to the first phone call and others to follow. Then, for the first time in nearly five years, someone asked me out and I accepted.

 That first date led to a second, and then a third. The first hug led to the first kiss. Just dating turned into something  more than that, and what started out as nothing more than two people who had come together with one common goal…to teach an 11 year old how to fly, blossomed into something that I never believed would happen again. That one common love of flying and the desire to share it with others had drawn together two people who never would have met otherwise and on a hill amongst the vines of a Defiance, Missouri vineyard, I realized that when I wasn’t even looking and despite all odds, love had found me again.

Despite the euphoria of that new love, I was terrified. It was like a first flight after a nasty crash, a now or never, to get you back in the air lest you never fly again. I had forgotten what it was to love and to be loved. Insecurities hit me like a nine ton truck and old fears of heartache came surging back. What if it doesn’t work out? What if I do something wrong and he leaves? What if I love him more than he loves me? What if his family is secretly trying to marry him off to an old girlfriend and hates me for getting in the way?

Then I looked up and into his eyes and I realized that my “broken” flight instructor was asking the same questions. We had something more in common than just a love of airplanes. We both had endured immeasurable heartbreak at the hands of someone we loved. We both experienced the agony of having our world, and everything we thought was good and right, unceremoniously torn out from under us and given to someone else. We had both known that overwhelming sense of defeat that comes with shattered faith.

The truth is, I had made myself comfortable. I surrounded myself with comfortable things and comfortable people. If I was lonely, I got another cat. If I was angry, I put another plant in the garden. If I was sad I wrote blog posts. I became so comfortable that I didn’t even realized how deep into an abyss that I had fallen until he put the light on for me and pulled me out. I think I pulled him out too.

A heart that has known grief never really forgets and new experiences can dredge up those old painful memories and put a fear in you that it is only going to happen again and so you avoid them and surround yourself with a wall, a sound barrier, blinders, anything to keep them out. Somewhere along the way, however, you forget that you are still broken. You become oblivious to it. You forget that you still have to put YOU back together.

 You don’t realize just how broken you are until you come face to face with someone who is equally broken. When you do, all of those walls and borders that you so painstakingly built come crashing down with the force of a tempest storm. There you are, standing in front of one another as you are.  No secrets, no shame. Just two people who share one common, perfect flaw.

When you work in aviation long enough, eventually you will find yourself standing with a crowd, staring at the mangled remains of an airplane, planted a foot into the mud with its wings broken and its back crippled. You say to yourself “There is no way that thing will ever fly again” only to be proven wrong a year later when, after someone cared enough to lift it up, devote their time, energy and dedication, and piece it back together again, it triumphantly rises into the sky once more. 

Just like the right mechanic can fix an airplane seemingly damaged beyond repair, so can the right person mend a broken heart and a shattered spirit.

It was a crooked, pockmarked, cow occupied road but I think I found the love of my life on broken wings. With each step, each embrace, each day that we can wake up and remember that they are still there, we are tearing down the walls and building one another back up. His love was not a trophy or prize to be won. It is a precious gift, for which I am grateful every day.  Every time I look into his eyes, I see the love, devotion, understanding and caring that dredged me up out the mud, straightened out my wings and gave them back to me. And for the first time since I can remember, I feel like flying.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Practical Guide to Running a Pilot Crashpad

As many of you know, my first love was flying and airplanes. I have worked in the airlines for most of my  adult life, first as a flight attendant and now as a flight dispatcher.  Over the years Ive worked in Minneapolis, Detroit, Memphis…. but I lived in St. Louis. In previous posts I have touched a bit on what it is to be an airline “commuter” but I haven’t gone into a great deal of detail about it.

Many airline employees take advantage of their companies travel benefits to enable them to still keep their home but be able to start and end their assignment at their designated duty post. (Usually in the hubs for the airline.)  They do this by flying in on the day of their assignment or perhaps the night before, complete their assignment and fly home to spend their days off.  While the practice is most common among pilots and flight attendants, dispatchers, mechanics and even customer service agents have been known to engage in this practice as well. There are many reason that normal, sane adults live this lifestyle, with the cost of living at the duty station and inability or unwillingness to move cited most often. Other reason might include state income tax rates, temporary assignments, or even temporary commuting while a move is coordinated for a new job.

Often they have to spend at least one night per week, and sometimes several nights per week.  Hotel rooms can add up very quickly, particularly if you are sitting on-call (reserve) or staying several nights and especially in larger cities or notoriously expensive coastal cities such as New York or Los Angeles but its also cost prohibitive to maintain two separate residences, two vehicles etc. Thus was born the airline “crash pad.”

They take on many forms, from two or 3 people sharing an apartment, to renting a single room for ones self, all the way up to elaborate hostel-like barracks with numbered bunks and shower sign ups sheets. Its a catch all term for communal crewmember living arrangements…several people “crashing” in one place, splitting the rent and expenses.  For the nomadic airline pilot, they are a life saver. For those with property to rent, they can be quite lucrative if they are run correctly and with working knowledge of hour airlines work.

Currently, I am counseling a property owner who, like me, lives close to the airport. Despite having a lovely home, she is having difficulty renting out the two rooms she has available to conventional roommates but has no experience with pilots or airlines.  Having lived in many a crash pad, and having helped to run one in Memphis, I am offering her advice on how to get started and decided to cross post it here.

This will probably get  published in multiple parts as it will probably be pretty long winded, but it is important for prospective crash pad owners to know exactly what to expect, particularly if they have no background in aviation.

First I would like to explain a little bit about how airline schedules work.

You have two types of crewmembers: line holders, and reserves.  Line holders tend to be more senior and therefore can hold a steady schedule. They know what the next months flying will be by the end of the previous month. Typically you will only see them at the start and/or end of their trip.  Reserves tend to be new or more junior. They do NOT have a set flying schedule. These crewmembers are assigned blocks of days where they must remain “on-call” and within a certain distance of the airport (usually 2 hours) to be available to cover sick calls, last minute flying, or flying that opens up to cancellations etc.

A line holders trip can be anywhere from 1-6 days, with the average being 4. Sometimes one or two-multi day trips might be  strung together. Reserves are typically on call up to 12 hours per day, with reserve periods lasting 1-6 days. Again, the average being 4.  Reserves may be called out to fly for their entire reserve period…. or they may not fly at all.

What is it like?

You’ll find that pilots are probably the most considerate, respectful and clean roommates you can live with. Their flight training conditions them to organized, professional and tactful. They generally don’t leave giant messes. Like any shared living situation there are, of course, exceptions to the rule but generally, pilots are pretty easy to live with.

Contrary to popular belief, unless the crew base has been hit with a significant weather event or other major disruption to airline operations, you don’t really see the tenants very often and rarely will they all be home at the same time. This is why many crash pads offer a “hot rack” situation, where beds or rooms are not assigned and crews occupy them on a first-come, first serve basis.

If it is a shared living situation, the biggest adjustment will be getting used to people coming into or out of the house at odd hours. Flights arrive and depart at all hours of the day and night so it is not uncommon to see a weary pilot wandering in the door as you are on your way to work or heading to the airport when you are settling down for bed. Or coming in at midnight. Or leaving at noon. If you are someone who is not comfortable sharing living areas such as kitchens, bathroom, living room etc, running a crash pad in your own home may not be a good fit for you.

If you are not sharing the residence, you will need to make a point to check on it at least once per week to ensure that the house is in order, all fixtures are in repair and that any provided items are stocked. You will probably want to designate someone as the “den mother” if you will. Someone who utilizes the crash pad who can be a go-to, collect rent, mediate any interpersonal differences between the tenants and ensure that house rules are being followed.

In addition, for each additional tenant, you can expect about a 5% increase in your month utility bills.

Is my property a good fit?

The first and foremost factor that determines suitability of a room or property to be used as a crash pad is its proximity to the airport. While reserves may have a 2 hour call out, it will be useless if they are staying an hour and a half from the airport. Ideally, the home should be within a half an hour by car or an hour by public transportation with preference given to homes as close to the airport as possible.

Another quality that is ideal is close proximity to public transportation, shopping, laundry (if use of the laundry is not provided) and eateries, preferably within walking distance as not all crew members will have a vehicle.

The home should be clean and in good repair. All appliances including kitchen and laundry should be in good, working order. All locks and security system should be functioning. Public areas should be free of clutter as should the driveway, yard, and garage if they are to be used. While pets are sometimes ok, generally a crash pad should be pet free.

You should check with your local ordinances. Many have a limit of how many adults may occupy a residence, generally based on number of bedrooms. In mine, for example, there may be no more than 2 adults for each bedroom. If I was renting a 3 bedroom house, legally I can have up to 6 adults. Laws vary by municipality so its important to check. Also, many municipalities have parking restrictions or a limit of how many vehicles may be kept on the property. If you have a single car driveway and your local ordinance does not allow street parking,  you will have to specify “no parking available.”

If you plan to share the home, it is important to remember that, unless you are willing to share the kitchen and laundry as well as public living spaces, you will have a difficult time finding crews to rent the space, particularly if they are reserve crews who will be spending extended periods of time there.

If it is an apartment, remember that many apartment complexes require that all occupants be listed on the lease and may limit how many non related adults may occupy the unit. It is important to check with your leasing office. Many crash pads have been busted up because of this.

What do I need to provide?

A crash pad can be as bare or as elaborate as you would like to make it, however it is generally expected that they should have basic furnishing: kitchen or dining table, a sofa or chairs, a television etc. Bedrooms should have beds, and a dresser or footlocker. (Bunk beds are a popular choice) but some crash pads provide the room unfurnished and crews supply their own air mattress, futon, etc. Bathroom and kitchen should have ample storage space. A laundry room and basic dishes and cookware are also preferred.  You may choose to provide towels and linens, with crew members responsible for washing them, or you may specify that they must provide their own. Generally toilet paper, paper towels, dish soap etc are a shared expense paid for by the tenants.  Like the residence, furnishings should be clean and in good repair.

A non negotiable is a good, shared internet connection. This is  because crews must check their schedules regularly as sometimes they do change. These are web based and require internet to view. If you live in an area with unreliable cell phone coverage, you will also need to have a land line available as crews need to be able to get in contact with the airline.

If you will not be sharing the space, a weekly visit to clean is important, whether you do it yourself or hire someone. With people constantly coming and going, even with everyone picking up after themselves, regularly cleaning is still important.

 

Look for part the next parts where we discuss getting set up, securing tenants, deciding rent, “house” rules, general security and safety, what to do when there is a problem and general daily life.

 

 

Monday Morning Margaritas: 21 Things Only People Who Work Nights Understand

There are day people and there are night people.

We all have our reasons why we choose or don’t choose the hours we work. Sometimes we have no other choice. Sometimes its our first choice.  While there are always the stereotypes: Day people are “perky and just happy to be here.” Night people are “moody and antisocial.”  Really for most of us, its just another day at the office.

I work nights. Its not that I am an anti social person or want a smaller work load or want to avoid traffic.  For me,  its purely physiological.

I cant shut my brain off at night.

Ask my parents. Even when I was a child, I loathed having to sleep when the moon was full and the stars were out. I like the quiet of leaving the office before the sun is up and having daylight to do a few things that I need or want to in the few hours I have before work. For whatever reason, I get more rest when I work on the backside of the clock.

Im just a night person.

As are many of us, by choice or obligation. Working nights, however, comes with its own unique challenges. It also comes with its own perks. To my fellow work vampires, this ones for you.

21: A cheeseburger at 4 am and eggs at 4 pm.

20: Getting the crap scared out of you by the custodian because you thought you were the only one left on the floor.

19: Freezing to death in winter and boiling in the summer because the climate control is set to adjust “after hours.”

18: Trying to make a phone call with the custodian vacuuming behind you.

17: Never being able to go out on Friday night.

16: Beer at 5 am. (Hey, it really is 5 o’clock somewhere!)

15: Being the last one to go to bed on your day off.

14: Waking up and seeing the clock read 7 o’clock, leaping from the bed, hopping around on one foot trying to get your pants on, tripping over the cat, running out your front door half dressed… only to realize that its actually 7 am and you’ve only been asleep 2 hours.

13: Your neighbors lawnmower outside your bedroom window at 8 am.

12: People who forget that you work nights and wont…stop…calling.

11: Getting pulled over on your way home from work because its about the time all of the bars close.

10: Neighbors who think that you never work because you’re “always home.”

9: Neighbors who think you are a cat burglar, stripper, etc because you’re “always gone all night.”

8: Attempting to wake up at 6 am on a day off.

7: Attempting to go to bed at 9 pm so you can wake up at 6 am on a day off.

6: Getting stuck at work “late” and having the morning people question who you are.

5: The first choice of donuts at the gas station.

4: Scaring the crap out of the custodian because he thought he was the only one left in the building.

3: Relaxed dress code (My favorite part)

2: Driving home in during the sunrise.

1: Monday morning margaritas.

Cheers to us, lords and ladies of the night!

 

 

Of Cats and Corkscrews: On Being a Single Woman Over 30

Source: Of Cats and Corkscrews: On Being a Single Woman Over 30

Of Cats and Corkscrews: On Being a Single Woman Over 30

“Crazy Cat Lady”

 

“Don’t worry, Honey! You don’t NEED a man!” My confidants assured me.

Its the battle cry heard by every woman who has ever made that painful, gut wrenching, embarrassing journey to the judges podium clutching a stack of papers an inch thick emblazoned with “Dissolution of Marriage” while her husband smugly waits for it to be over.  Her friends rally around her and assure her that its his loss, that she will be 1000% better without him, and she doesn’t need a man. All well-meaning words to try to take the suck out of watching marriage end.

I can tell you,  It really doesn’t make it suck any less.

That pathetic woman walking into court was me, 4 years ago. I was 29, established in my career, and thought that my marriage was going well.  Ill spare the blood and gore, but it was not exactly an amicable split. My friends and family did what any woman would hope: They showed up to my apartment, double fisting bottles of wine and moving boxes. We got drunk and repeated the Battle Hymn of the Divorcee “We don’t need a man.” while we stuffed his crap into garbage bags and watched romantic comedies.

Divorce follows its own unique “stages of grief.”

Stage One: “The shock.” This is the stage where you call your mom. You break down and tell her that its over. You try to retrace your footsteps and figure out where everything went wrong. You wander around your house, realizing that it suddenly doesn’t feel like your home anymore.

Stage Two: “The waterworks.”  You wallow in self pity, sit for hours looking at your wedding photos and eating your way through a case of Ben and Jerry’s.  You invite people over just so you don’t have to be alone while you cry.

Stage Three: “Angry Phase.”  How DARE that bastard do this to me! I’m going to sue him for so much alimony that his grandchildren will feel it!

Stage Four: A rerun of “The Waterworks”

Stage Five: “The Battle Hymn of the Divorcee.” I don’t NEED a man. He’ll never be as happy as he was with me! I don’t NEED a man! Six months and he’ll be crawling back to me! I don’t NEED a man, I don’t need a man, I don’t need a man! (This is generally when the wine and garbage bags come out.)

Stage Six: “The reasoning.” Ill WIN him back!

Stage Seven: “Ill show him.” A feeble hunt for a replacement. This is usually when online dating comes into play.

Stage Eight: “The Epiphany” When the finality of the situation starts to set in.  He’s gone. He isn’t coming back. The dates you have been on have all been lousy. The photos and mementos slowly get put away. You stop crying. You stop being angry. You just stop.

Stage Nine: “The Healing.”  You learn to live life on your own again, make decisions without having to consider the wishes or feelings of your spouse, do things that you never would have done with your spouse. It doesn’t sting anymore.

Stage 10: “The singleton.”  This is a resting place. You aren’t dating and maybe you don’t want to. Or maybe you do, but you aren’t. You’re just you. Maybe your have a friend with benefits. Maybe you “hang out” but you are sans relationship.

Stage 11: Whatever comes after that.

I, for the time being, am firmly wedged somewhere between stages 10 and 11.

I feel bad for my great grandmother, who divorced in a time when “divorce” was a four letter word. It was taboo to talk about your own divorce but apparently fair game for gossip, never mind the reason.  There were no divorce support groups or self-help books. Women didn’t go out to the bar in tiaras and sashes that read “just divorced” while chanting “Free at last, free at last! Good God almighty, she is free at last!” They certainly didn’t write about it in blogs.  The focus was “What did you do wrong?” And “How quickly can she get married again to save face.”

While my divorce (and the accompanying rollercoaster of emotions)  is long behind me, I feel that it did shape how I moved ahead. The time I have spent since then has given me time to look back and reflect on what went wrong and how I can avoid the same mistake again. During this time, I  remained single….by choice.

I did try dating a few times but the magic just wasn’t there. I joined some singles groups, hoping to make some friends, but was met with a tense, expectant atmosphere. Either everyone expected that they would find their one true love on a first date, or at least expected to take someone home. I even made a quick, desperate foray into online dating. I could write a 9 volume encyclopedia on THAT subject.

No thanks. Ill stick with the cats.

When you are single in your 20’s, its called “sowing your wild oats” and “enjoying your youth.”  Now, its almost expected that you would wait to settle down until after your career is established, you had a home, and you were financially stable. Getting married in your 20’s is now often met with “Why??? You’re so young!”  Its a far cry from even 30 years ago, when Seventeen Magazine used to feature china patterns and engagement rings along side prom dresses and makeup tips. Getting married later is seen as the responsible, smart thing to do.  The problem is, I was married in my 20’s.  Now what?

When you turn 30 and are still blatantly single, especially at a time when all of your friends and peers are beginning to pair off and get married, its almost like it goes against all of the laws of human nature. Its sort of like people who decide that they don’t want kids. People have a hard time coming to grips because it goes against what we have been taught is right and normal. Its “normal” for a single woman over 30 to be ready to run down the aisle. It is apparently not normal for a woman to put off dating “in the prime of her life.”

Ive been labeled with the ultimate brand of shame:  “Crazy Cat Lady.” (Ok, I do have 5 cats..but in my defense,  had 5 cats when I was married, too.)  Ive been called “frigid.” I’ve been accused of not being over my divorce or my ex husband. People have declared that I am “living in the past.” People assume that there is something “wrong” with me and the reason I am single is that I scare them off. (Well…actually that might be true)

Being 33, with so many of my peers “settling down,” some of the very women who were rallying around me and telling me “Im better off alone” are now the same women saying “Honey, its time for you to move on, meet someone, get married again.” As if 4 years had magically turned me into a spinster who was going to die alone in a house full of cats with a corkscrew still clenched in her fist.

I didn’t make the decision to stay in Singleton’s Limbo because I’m still holding on to some deep seated grief or worse, a deluded fantasy that my ex husband and I will someday make amends and live happily ever after. I didn’t do it because of a buried fear of getting hurt again, although it was a contributing factor early on. I did it because I wanted time. Not that I needed time. I wanted it.

I wanted to see what I could do, left to  my own devices. I wanted to see what life was like without always having someone there. I wanted to put my couch against that corner, and put my dishes in that cabinet and drink wine, eat Oreos and watch Animaniacs in my bathrobe without having to get someone’s input or opinion. I wanted to prove what the Battle Hymn of the Divorcee promised…. that I could do it on my own.

Do I get lonely sometimes? Of course I do. I get painfully lonely. Sometimes I do wish I had a man around. (Incidences involving a can of Raid and my size 8 1/2 come readily to mind.) But that isn’t necessarily a good reason to jump into a relationship with the first person I meet and certainly not a good reason to get married again.

Maybe I am destined to live my life out without a partner, just me and the kids and the cats….and the ferret….and the fish. Maybe Ill meet my soul mate tomorrow at the pop fountain at the gas station and we’ll live happily ever after.  Maybe Ill get hit by a bus and have a conversation with Janis Joplin and Amelia Earhart in a white room before coming out of my coma to tell about it.  Whatever is in the cards for me, Im happy to let it happen. Im not going to chase love for the sake of trying to fall in love.  The best things in life are worth waiting for and they always come when you least expect it. I can think of 100 things that are 1000 times worse than being single over 30. Divorce didnt ruin me. It just taught me patience, fortitude, and to choose a little more wisely.

An Open Letter to My Senior Class

Dear Members of the Class of 2000, Today I received a reminder about our upcoming 15 year reunion.

Wow. 15 years. Its hard to believe that it has already been so long

. Maybe you don’t remember me.  I wouldn’t expect many of you to, but I certainly remember you…each and every one of you. There were the Jocks and one who also excelled in music and other arts. The Cheerleaders who only associated with above named jock and other cheerleaders. The Pommers who only associated with one another. The math whizzes who could out think most rocket scientists.  The “Band Geeks”.  The Gamers.  Then the Choir Peeps. The Theatre Troupe.  The “Future Presidents.”  (You know, the kind that are involved with Student Council, Student Government, Debate, Future Leaders of America, Optomists Club and STILL have time to organize a “Save the Whales” campaign?”)  There were the “Power Couples” who had been together since they were 6 and planned to marry they day they graduate high school.  There were the Divas, who were always…ALWAYS…cast the lead in the plays. Always got the solos in music, ALWAYS chosen to represent the school because of their ethereal perfection.   There were the loud ones, the quiet ones, the ones who always wanted to be the center of attention and those who would do anything to avoid being seen or heard.

I remember all of you.

I sat staring at that adorably written reminder about the upcoming festivities.  It was brimming with excitement about seeing everyone and finding out how their lives are going, catching up and reminiscing in old times.

Did anyone bother to notice that I didn’t attend the 10 year reunion?

I didn’t go to the 10 year reunion for the same reason that I haven’t made contact with any of you in the past 15 years.  I don’t want to “remember the good old days” because, for me, the good old days didn’t begin until one June morning in 2000 I walked across the stage in a stupid blue robe, took a mundane piece of paper from a man who saw what I had gone through for so many years and did nothing, flipped the tassel that was dangling in my face, walked away, and never looked back. I suppose you don’t  even remember what Im talking about.

That’s because you never saw me cry.

There is that little reminder, open next to me as I type this. “Cant wait to see everyone and see how their lives have been going!”   You didn’t care much about my life 15 years ago when, right up until the last day of school, I was the target of your cruelty.  I use the word “cruelty” for a reason.  Your actions and your words were cruel.

Every day of my life, I dreaded getting up in the morning because I was scared.  Not of a test or a bad report card or a strict teacher.

I was afraid of you. Did you even know that?  I was afraid. Not just afraid, TERRIFIED. I suppose when the world is at your fingertips and everything in the world was going right for you, it was easy to think that your actions had no consequences, but they did.  Of course, if they didn’t affect you and as long as things stayed that way, it didn’t matter.

Did you ever, even once stop to think that what you were doing to me and others like me might be wrong? That it might be harming someone?  Did you ever ponder, even for a moment, what struggles I was facing outside of the school doors?  Did you ever ask yourself if maybe you should stop because maybe it was making life that much harder for someone who was already struggling?

Did you even care? Just once?

There were no happy days for me to reminisce in. Only sad ones. My life didn’t begin until that school, those memories and all of you were far behind me.  It took years before I could bring myself to even look at my yearbook because all I wanted to do was grab you by your ears and scream for you to STOP, like the way I had wanted to for so long.

Stop hurting me.

When that first little invitation arrived for my 10 year reunion, I was on an airplane bound for Ft. Lauderdale for a training event for my FAA license. (That’s right. The “ugly, crazy girl who is obsessed with Amelia Earhart” went into aviation. Shocking, isn’t it?)  When I opened that email I laughed out loud, looked at my seatmate and said “They have GOT to be kidding!” But then, I thought about it.  Wouldn’t it be great to finally walk in there and show those people that I didn’t just fade into the background? That I took my “ugly, crazy, skank bitch *insert any combination of derogatory words here*, that no one likes” self, pulled myself up by my bootstraps and carved out my own little piece of heaven? That would really show them!

Then I realized. It wouldn’t. No matter what I did with my life, people like that would never change. They would still find fault in something. They would still pick me apart, just like they did when I was a scared, lonely, hurting teenager. There they would be , still in their cliques, still  gossiping, still making cruel jokes, maybe not at my expense anymore, but at someone’s. I closed that email and never looked at it again.  Now, here I am looking at another one five years later.

I realize now that I set out to do exactly what I wanted to do in my life. I have the career, the home, and the family that I always wanted and that I always knew was right for me.  Im happy. I am healthy. I have an entire life ahead of me and I have people in my life that are worth sharing it with.  I don’t need to sit around drinking watered down cocktails with people who really didn’t even know me to validate it and I don’t need the approval of my senior class to make it worthy. I grew up and I grew away from that.  I wont go into the details of my life except to say that I am glad it turned out the way it did.

So, to the Class of 2000, I must respectfully decline your invitation.  Im afraid I have a prior engagement, to celebrate and reminisce with the people who were a positive influence in my life. I wish everyone every happiness that this world and this lifetime has to offer you.

And now I wish you would please just leave me alone.

Dear Society: I Don’t “hate kids” just because I dont want more.

“You have two girls, don’t you want to try for a boy?”

“But you’re so young! Don’t give up on it yet!”

“You’ll change your mind once you meet someone.”

“You are a selfish, kid-hating witch! You don’t deserve to be a mother!”

I’ve heard it all.

I was a young mother.  I was first married at 19. My oldest daughter was born just before my 21st birthday. Her sister followed 23 months later. I did the “proper” thing. I stayed at home with my children through infancy and toddlerhood, devoted to washing bottles, changing diapers, “Mommy and Me”, and listening to the Wiggles CD for 19th time. When they began school, my thoughts turned to work.  I pursued my dream of working in aviation and its a dream that I achieved, with kids in tow.

Fast forward and my children are now 10 and 12.  Their dad and I divorced and now actively co-parent.  I remarried, and he left for our old roommates little sister. I haven’t dated in 3 years, much less thought about having more children.

As I am quickly approaching my mid 30’s, I have begun to field questions as to whether or not I want to get married, and more importantly to have any more children in the future.

The truth is, I don’t.

*Pause for all the reasons I need to find another man and start doing the diaper dance again.*

In todays society, its is becoming increasingly common for women to put off marriage and childbirth into their 30’s. The reasons cite everything from finishing college, to 5 year plans, to financial security and even world events. Gone are the days when wedding gowns and engagement rings were featured along side prom dress ads in teen magazines. There is less pressure for a woman to marry young and turn out a child a year until menopause.

However, as a woman pushes into her 30’s, there is the preconceived notion that “her biological clock is ticking.”  Trouble is, mine wasn’t.  I already have two beautiful little girls who are finally old enough to be semi self sufficient. Gone are the days of diaper bags, double strollers, and portable playpens and I am happy with that. I have a nice home, a good car, and a stable career.  Not to mention that I lack a partner.

My second husband and I decided before we were married that we didn’t want any more children. My two were enough. His mother called me a career-obsessed baby hater who was denying her son a child. (Didn’t matter how many time he had told her that his stepdaughters were enough)  I strongly suspect she encouraged her recently married daughter to get pregnant to set an example, just as she had done with the over the top, $30K wedding she threw for her on our first anniversary, a year after my ex husband and I eloped. She couldn’t handle the fact that we didn’t have a “real wedding.”  Never mind the fact that neither daughter, nor daughters new husband were employed and husband had a serious drug problem. She wanted things done her way, and that included me presenting her with offspring.

My second husband leaving was a blessing if only to get away from THAT.

Then there are the well meaning friends and co workers who say “Awe. You just say that because you’re alone. You’ll change your mind when you meet the right guy.”

About that.  Ive found that it is becoming increasingly difficult to find someone my own age to date. Men in their 20’s aren’t ready to settle down. Men in their 40’s and older either have and have raised their own children, or have reached the point where they know they no longer want children.  Men in their 30’s,however,  are typically beginning to settle down. They begin seeing themselves getting married and having kids.  Ive briefly dated a few people who seem really great, until they learn that I have no desire to have more children.  For most, its a deal breaker.

More than once, it was met with a fast exit and a muttered “No wonder you’re single.”

Really?

Even my doctors push back, denying a request for permanent sterilization because “Im SO YOUNG. I might change my mind.”

Then of course, there are the Nipple Nazis who  shove their infant, happily gnawing their areola, in my face and say “Don’t you just WISH you could do this again?

No. not really.

To which Im met with a tirade about how I am a terrible mother because I don’t want to add to my brood 10 years after I had changed my last diaper.

What has happened to motherhood? If you don’t breastfeed, you are a terrible mom who is poisoning her children.. If you have 4 children, everyone calls you a “breeder.”  If you have no children, you are “selfish.”  If you decide early that you don’t want anymore, everyone tries to talk you out of it. If you put off having children, its “your fault you’re infertile.”

Enough already!

I love my children. They are my world. I would do anything, and I mean anything for them.  I am happy and proud of how they are growing up. Just because I am ready to focus on getting them through high school, college, and the start of their womanhood, while being young enough to enjoy it it, does not make me lazy, or selfish . I don’t “hate kids” nor do I hate  being a mom.  I have had my children, and decided that two is right for me. Every woman is different. Some want a house full of children, and some want none at all.  Concentrate on what is right for you. Ill take care of what is right for me.

The Horizon

The sea is eternal.

The surface undulates, rising and falling, each swell like a long, drawn breath. Sun burns down through broken clouds, casting mottled shadows that mock the desperate.  The water is ever changing and yet stubbornly remains the same vast, empty canvas of grey and blue from horizon to horizon. The sea is unyielding, its ferocity is untamable, its force is unmatched and yet it moves with such grace that its relentlessness is easily forgotten.

The clouds drift by wistfully, unaware of the fury and longing beneath them. Moving in calculated chaos, they are heavy with the burden of impending rain and yet as silent as butterfly wings.  They continue on until they are far behind, their fate and destination uncertain but blissfully unnoticed. The horizon inches forever closer.

The wind is a life force. Pushing, urging, encouraging, and yet the air is unmoving and hot. Oppressive. Heavy. Just as it gives life, it threatens to suffocate.  It is thick with remorse, confusion, desperation but unrelenting determination.  It whips past in wild howls and yet remains still and focused.

The ocean hides secrets, some as easily discovered as the white caps of breaking waves and others are as elusive as a miniscule thread of green among the endless grey.  Some will remain as such, others plead to be discovered. Others are found completely by chance

Hope is the color green. It is distant and obscured, surrounded by an unforgiving sea, just beyond an unending horizon. Somewhere, where the ocean meets the heavens, is one last chance. One last hope. One last reason to keep moving forward. As long as there is that horizon, there will always be a reason to keep pursuing it. .

-Krystal McGinty-Carter

http://www.TIGHAR.org

I Didnt Choose Dispatch

When I was 8 years old. my dad took me to an air show.

It was the 4th of July and we were at the St. Charles riverfront for their big festival.  My dad was as excited as a kid on Christmas morning because Bob Hoover was going to be flying.

Who the hell was that?

Daddy paid extra so we could watch the air show from one of the riverboats moored on the banks of the Missouri river. He bought me an ice cream cone and we lined up on the rail to wait for the show to begin. I had never seen an air show before. I didnt know what the big deal was. It was a dreary day. Overcast with the threat of rain. I was more focused on the fireworks….and worried that it might rain and cancel them.  I was leaning on the rail, holding that giant waffle cone and watching my double scoop strawberry cheesecake ice cream drip in the muddy water flowing beneath the hull of the antique boat. I wasnt even paying attention to the announcer.

A sound came almost out of nowhere and I looked up to see 4 little biplanes suddenly race by, just feet above the water. Two red, two green.  They pulled up together and shot towards the sky in perfect formation.

I dropped my ice cream into the water. My dad didnt notice and I didnt care.

They were 4 Pitts Special biplanes. A now defunct aerobatics team once sponsored by Coca Cola and Holiday Inn.  I clung to my dad as they soared upward and tumbled back to earth only to suddenly regain control, dive at the water and pull up as the last second. They skimmed just above the river, passed one another on a knifeblade, rolled, looped, slipped…..

….and sealed my fate forever.

Aviation became my first love that day. All I wanted was to fly. I wanted to be a stunt pilot. I wanted to fly with the Blue Angels. I wanted to be an astronaut. If it involved airplane, I wanted it. I made two attempts to get my pilots license. Sadly, life circumstances prevented it.

Life went on. I grew up. Got married. Had babies.Aviation was never far from my mind.

When I was 25, that aviation bug started nagging me again. Unhappy with working from home as a seamstress,I made rash decision. I applied to be a flight attendant with every airline that was hiring. My last application was with a small regional airline that had just begun operations. They called me back. They flew me to Minneapolis for the interview….and they hired me.  I left for training on new years day, and came back 6 week later in my uniform. I was happy, hopeful, well groomed, and ready to take on the world.

2 years later,I handed in my resignation and hung up my wings, wondering what HELL I was thinking!

In those 2 years, I was studying air traffic control from my jumpseat. Sadly, there was no way I could afford the schooling but a glimmer of hope gave me at least a fighting chance. The anticipated mass of air traffic controllers reaching mandatory retirement age meant that the supply might not be able to keep up with the demand and the FAA began an initiative to hire people “off the street.” Provided they met the criteria and could pass an exam.  I applied and took the exam. I scored a 93%… “well-qualified.”….and waited….and waited…and waited…..and recieved the “Screw you very much letter.”  No biggie. I applied again. Nope. So i applied again. Nada.

That was when someone told me about dispatch.

I had just stopped flying and was working as a manger in a “teenage” clothing store….and I was ready to go back to being a flight attendant to get away from it.  He was a friend of my ex husbands. He wanted to be a pilot but couldnt because of his health. So he went into dispatch.

As a flight attendant, I had heard ABOUT dispatch, but had no clue what it was.  I shot it down at first. I didnt think it would be ANYTHING that I wanted to do.  He sat me down and showed me all of his training material from school. He urged me to give it a shot. With a lucky tax refund in hand, I reluctantly agreed..

I drove from St. Louis to Fort Lauderdale. I slept in my car on the way down because every penny we had was sunk into my tuition. I stayed with a weird woman and her cat 2 miles from the beach. I drove for 7 weeks with a failing water pump…having to fill my radiator each day before work and resorting to driving without my air conditioner in the south Florida August heat in order to keep my car from over heating. I ate beans and rice. I got to go to the beach once….and got fried.I spent my birthday away from home, with not so much as a friend to have a glass of wine with.

I realized quickly that dispatch school was like drinking from a fire hose. I was skeptical. I passed the dreaded ADX exam Another  guy in the CATS center passed at the same time. We danced a jig together….until the instructor popped his head in and said “you guys realize this room is videotaped, right?”  I was still skeptical.  Even after I completed my first flight plan, I wasnt convinced. After I passed my final and my practical exam, I couldnt even raise anyone back home to tell them the good news.  I used my last $3 to buy myself a Starbucks before heading home, my newly minted license in hand.

Back in St. Louis, I started sending out resumes. I had one interview that lasted exactly 5 minutes….and I had driven 5 hours and stayed in a hotel overnight for it. I began to think that this had been a giant mistake. Then one day, I got a call from an airline that I hadnt applied to. Turns out, the person that had first turned me on to dispatch had put in a good word for me at his airline.  4 weeks later, I was sitting in a classroom. Again.

For 2 months, I had the operation of an airline crammed down my throat. I had everything from dispatch school regurgitated and fed to me again. Then came the OJT.

Nothing makes you feel completely inadequate quite like that first week actually sitting in front of the monitors with a far more experienced person sitting over your shoulder telling you what you are doing wrong.

What the hell was I thinking? Thousands of dollars and months of my time wasted.

3 days before my comp check, I went to the SOC manager and told her I didnt think I was ready. I wasnt getting it. i couldnt put my training and the job together. Maybe I wasnt cut out for this. Maybe it was time to go back to slinging drinks and doing safety demos that no one paid attention to.  She told me that it was going to be ok.

The next day, she gave me a new instructor. The chief dispatcher.

That woman kicked…my….ass.

In 2 days, I learned more than I had in the previous 4 weeks on the desk with anyone else. When my comp check came around, I nailed it. I was signed off. I had done it. I could do it. I was scheduled for my first shift the next day.

I got a good nights sleep. I put on my nicest outfit, did my hair, got to the office early sporting my shiny new airline badge. I sat down to my desk for the very first time. The weather wasnt pleasant, as it was raining and thundering outside but I tried to relax. I lined up my pens. Signed in. Pulled up my flight list.

“Ok. My first release isnt due for 45 minutes. Plenty of time to get settled in.”

Then I pulled up my radar…….

And THIS is what I had to contend with.

I could only make squeaking noises for a second.

My first flight was from MSP to CVG.

Thats it! I quit!

Suddenly a man I had never met came to me with a sticky note.

“This repo needs to go out yesterday.”

*squeak*

Then, it was if my hands took over.

Look at the weather, check the notams, change the route, pick this altitude, stick on enough gas to get to china, calculate, release, send.

Did I just do that?

That first day, I felt like a baby giraffe learning to stand. The second day, i planned a flight for the wrong runway and they had to do an overweight landing. I wanted to hang myself with my headset cord. The first week, I felt like the worst dispatcher in the world. The second week, I felt like the worst dispatcher in the company. The third week, I learned how to build routes by hand and I felt like Hercules.The next day I had my first diversion and I just wanted to crawl under my desk and die.

The fourth week, I had my first emergency. The fifth week, I had an air traffic controller in DTW tell me that “He was too busy to deal with some piddly little dispatcher ”  when I asked about getting a better taxi time for one of my flight. I answered my next call trying not to cry.

The 8th week, I had a flight that was headed into an airport that suddenly fogged in below mins. There was nothing in the forecast that would have indicated fog. It wasnt even an airport that was prone to fogging in. Here was my flight, with only standard hold fuel and no alternate and an airport that was below cat II mins and all the airports around it falling apart as well. Somehow, I found them another airport, recalculated their  numbers and made it work with what they had on board.  I still dont know how we did it. They landed and offloaded for the night.

Half an hour later, the captain called me to tell me “Thank you.”

That experience finally made it click. This is what a dispatcher does. Its not just blindly staring at weather and churning out releases. Its a partnership with the people who are flying the plane. Its finding a way to make it work when it doesnt seem possible. Its dealing with an air traffic controller that wasnt hugged enough as a child. Its clean. And its messy. Its ever changing and always the same. Its ruthless and thankless…and there was no where else I would rather be. It was aviation in the way that I had always pictured it….part art, part science and part willpower.

After 6 months, I realized that I couldnt see myself doing anything else.

When I started out on my path to my career, I did it reluctantly. I had always loved flying and aviation and I didnt think a “mundane” existence behind a computer screen, where I couldnt even see an airplane could ever make my happy. Here I am now, training new dispatchers who are just like I was: Skeptical. I may not work for the biggest and best, but I am doing what I love now. I have great co-workers and a boss who deserves to be sainted. Is it always milk and honey? Hell no! There are still some days when I just want to go back to watching air shows with my dad and forget that I ever dared to get myself involved with aviation. For the most part though, I am happy. There hasnt been a day that I woke up and seriously didnt want to go to work.

This little girl traded her ice cream cone for a headset and Jepps and she couldnt be happier.

I didnt choose dispatch. It just sot of chose me.

21 Things You Should NEVER Say to an Airline Employee

To the flying public who have never worked a day in the life of an airline employee, there are certain questions and phrases and are deemed “innocent.” In reality, we hear them all day, every day. We hear it so much that when the topic of employment arises in conversation with people we don’t know, we lie and say we are bus drivers. We hide our airline credentials like the last Wonka Golden Ticket. We keep our offices locked down tighter than Fort Knox. Its nothing against you, and everything to do with “We are just plan sick of hearing it!”

Ladies and gentlemen, please refrain from using any of the following questions and phrases in polite conversation with airline employees. The answers will not be what you want to hear.

21: Why do I have to pay so much for my ticket? (Because you don’t want to drive for 3 days)

20: Do you always fly this route? (What “route?”)

19: THE TSA SUCKS! YOU NEED TO GET RID OF THEM! (TSA is not run by the airlines, BTW)

18: Your job looks SO easy! Im sooooo jealous! (*Blank Stare*)

17: Wow! You must earn a lot of money! (*Evil Stare*)

16: Do you work for a real airline or one of those regional things? (Define “real”)

15: Do you fly real a airplane or one of those regional airplanes? (Sorry, this is all $25 Million buys these days)

14: My sister wants to be a flight attendant! Are you hiring? (No.)

13: Which one is the pilot? (They’re both pilots)

12: Airlines are evil! They suck! The people who work for airlines ought to be ashamed of themselves. (Thanks. You’re pretty swell yourelf.)

11: Them: “What do you do?” Me: “I work for an airline.” Them: “Oh. Stewardess?” (*crickets*)

10: Where do they keep the chemtrail tanks? ()

9: Why do I have to pay to check my bag? (Don’t talk about your mother in law that way!)

8: So do you get to fly for free? (Define “free?”)

7: Why cant they remove 2 rows of seats to give everyone more legroom and just charge more for the ticket? (See #21)

6: Why don’t they bring back the hot, young flight attendants? (They haven’t perfected the time machine yet)

5: Airliners practically fly themselves! (The pilots just sit up front and make engine noises, I guess)

4: I want to be a flight attendant. Can you give my resume to… (Nope.)

3: Did you ever joined the mile high club? (Did you ever mature past the age of 12?)

2: Why do they show us how to fasten a seatbelt? Everyone knows how to work a seatbelt! (Ask me that after you have to evacuate.)

1: OMG! CAN I HAVE A BUDDY PASS!!!!!??? (Slams door in their face)