Each one of us is a representative of all of us. Consider that idea as you read along.
From time to time, I will refer to the general aviation community as if it is a real thing. A collection of individuals who share a common interest. There is a bond between us. At least, that’s how I see it.
Some will dispute this claim. That’s understandable. We don’t all look alike. We don’t all live in close proximity to each other. Most of us will never meet. Beyond our affection for aviation there is nothing in particular that binds us. That’s the argument anyway.
I would disagree with that perspective. There is something that binds us together — something invisible but of profound importance. It is our humanity. Our willingness to help others in need. It is our compassion that connects us.
That is true even though it is not evident much of the time.
General aviation is so fragmented by myriad lines of artificial delineation it can be hard to see us as a united association of like-minded individuals. The warbird folks don’t necessarily feel all that much kindred spirit with the ultralight fans. Owners of certified airframes may not seek out partnerships with homebuilders.
We have the rotorcraft kids, the seaplane fans, the classic aficionados, the glider group, light sport folks, high and fast movers, and even low and slow sightseers among us. None may see the obvious commonality of our mission, but some do.
Now and then someone, or more likely a small group of someones, will band together to start an organization, an association, or a group. There is strength in numbers after all.
It is far more likely we can have a beneficial impact on our local airport, city council, or state assembly if there is heft to the number of voices calling out for change. We often refer to these assemblies of individuals as alphabet groups, due to their tendency to abbreviate their names into a more easily expressed acronym.
You know the groups I mean. Hopefully, you’re a member of at least one of them.
On an individual basis, however, we don’t see ourselves as active participants in the community as a whole. We combine forces for political influence or economic might.
But when it comes to one-to-one benefit, we just don’t recognize the community we belong to as being of much real value.
Oh how wrong that perspective is.
I do not know Trent Dyrsmid. We’ve never met. As far as I know we’ve never been within 500 miles of each other. Yet, like so many in the general aviation world, I’ve come to appreciate the man.
Our closest connection came more than a year ago when Trent agreed to be a guest on the Mad Props Aero channel on YouTube. His dedication to himself, his family, and untold numbers of prospective pilots impressed me.
Trent was an entrepreneur who made the decision in middle age to become a professional pilot. He documented his path in a series of videos on a YouTube channel called Fly with Trent. He earned certificates and ratings in short order. He accomplished his goals on a budget. He offered advice, encouragement, and virtual mentoring to those who aspired to follow in his footsteps.
Trent was on his way. He announced just a short time ago that he’d been offered a position with a carrier operating the ERJ-175. Training, then operational experience, was going to be Trent’s path to the big time.
And he built quite an audience on YouTube as he followed his dream. More than 50,000 viewers subscribed to his channel. He was by all standard measurements, a success.
Then came the cancer diagnosis. A blow that robbed him of his medical and his training slot. Beyond the trauma of seeing a career being stripped away after years of hard work and sacrifice, there is the unavoidable mortality question that arises when a medical professional explains which cancer has taken up residence in the body and what the treatment options are.
Any one of us would be knocked down by such news. Losing our employment and income at the exact same time we’re being confronted with the most challenging crisis of our lives, well, that’s the sort of thing that can destroy anyone.
Not Trent, though. Trent spoke up. He shared his story. He explained his plan. And most important of all, he asked for help.
The community he joined up with in general aviation, the community he worked so hard to guide and encourage to be the best they could be, reached back with a helping hand when the Dyrsmid family needed it most.
Imagine being forced by circumstance to relocate your family to a medical facility hundreds of miles away. To endure a course of treatment that would destroy your immune system. Consider the emotional load that would put on your family, not to mention the financial strain.
The community did not disappoint. Trent’s GoFundMe campaign humbly asked for donations to help his family survive the economic pressures they’re facing. As I write this the community has committed nearly $74,000 to the cause. They are sharing what they can with a stranger they’ve come to care for. They’re putting a few dollars toward easing the pain of a family they may never sit across a table from. They are demonstrating their humanity and expressing their compassion for a fellow member of the community who needs help.
The community delivered.
It has been said that no man is an island. Clearly, that is true. We are indeed a community in the best sense of the term. We care for each other. We go to bat for people we don’t even know, just because we see a glimmer of ourselves in them.
I sincerely hope the Trent Dyrsmid story will have a happy ending, bumpy as his path may be for a time. I have no doubt, however, that Trent and his family are tremendously proud and emotionally buoyed by the strength and generosity of the general aviation community.
Every single one of us is fortunate to belong to such a remarkable collection of men and women. In numbers, there is hope.
