We pilots are not particularly special, even though we often think we are. We put on our flight suits one leg at a time, and when we go to the doctor, we all have to wear those same insipid paper suits when they squeeze us into an MRI or onto an operating table.
We possess no inspired political or social knowledge and are split evenly on most questions. Pilots most certainly have no firmer grip on civility, kindness, common sense, or compassion than the average red hat or blue tie-wearing ground pounder.
We live our allotted years and eventually croak, just like every other life form on this planet. While we may be more careful with our health because of the medical certification rules we follow, we have no better track record on good health, mental or physical, than any other average, nonpilot human.
Our vision, what we see, and how our brains interpret what we see make us pilots different from the rest of humanity.
Of course, we all had to prove during our flight physicals that we could see well enough to read a chart, notice a light gun signal, recognize the color magenta, or observe that idiot who is going way too far out on the downwind with his Cessna 150, pretending it is a 747.
If you are an IFR or a long-term professional pilot like me, I have a good example of our vision and how we see things.
Let’s look at that huge thunderstorm over there. It appears to be approaching our hangar and is threatening to douse the hot coals of my BBQ grill. What does a nonpilot see, and what do you see?
A nonpilot (and I am guessing here because I have no firm idea of what any nonpilot is really thinking) most likely sees the thunderstorm in terms of its “boomy-ness” and perhaps is worried that they left the windows of their car open before they came over to my hangar. They think of a thunderstorm as something to be warned about, endured, and then complained about.
You and I look at the storm and may have some of the same thoughts as the nonpilot, but I will bet you my next bratwurst that we are both deciding which side to deviate around it.
We see the storm and remember that the rides on the upwind side are better and that flying under the overhang can lead to a bad ride and the chance of hail.
Sunsets and sunrises are beautiful, and while we pilots see the poetry and romance of the emerging or fading light, we give the sunrises a special squint if we have been doing a long overnight ocean crossing or a back-to-back overnight domestic safari.
We certainly see the beauty of the event. Still, after a short look at the sunrise through tired eyes, it feels like the harsh new light that replaced those droning hours of in-flight darkness has flung hot sand into our peepers that no amount of black coffee from the galley can alleviate.
Pilots view flying as an end in itself. The fact that aircraft are quicker at getting you to that weekend visit with your aunt Maude than taking the family truckster is not what we see as a selling point. To most of us, the flight is the fun part.
We try to accumulate hours, not avoid them, so to an old pilot like me, a six-hour flight somewhere in an Aeronca Champ with its slow-motion views of moo cows grazing and cars going faster than me on the highway below is not seen as a bad thing.
Aviators see safety and risk-taking somewhat differently than the average gravity-bound mesomorph. While it is true that flying contains more hazards than sitting on your couch watching famous fashion models and TV talking heads return from “almost space,” we know that risk can be assessed and managed, and when handled properly, we see it as fun.
We see each other differently than non-fliers see us. Their preconceived notion about our derring-do, steely-eyed resolve, and rock-solid Tom Hanks-like resolve does not come into our view when we see each other.
I have flown with every pilot stereotype, from the overly serious, overcompensating weak captain to the flamboyant clown pilot. However, how they visually appear to me is incidental to how they fly and their skills at getting along at a layover dinner.
Next time you see a pilot in a crowd, give them a knowing look and a nod. You two are swimming in an aquarium with non-flying fish, and you see the world much differently than they will ever know.
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