The excitement
The anticipation of a change of scenery, being gently pushed back into the seat as the plane lifts you into the sky. And then there’s the view of the world from above, a soaring sense of the beauty of where I live. I don’t know how to fly, but my other half, Adam, does. He’s quite good at it. In fact, he’s even good at teaching other people how to do it. That’s where he sits on a different plane to many pilots (see what I did there?).
Sure, you’re going to know he’s in the room, but he’s a little more understated about it. He’s quite the perfectionist when it comes to flying and flight training. His choice of aircraft is the Cirrus. After years of time in and around them, he has developed a sharply defined sense of how to best teach people to fly them and how to truly make the most of owning one.
He believes in these aircraft passionately and he believes pilots should rise to the challenge of flying them with a sense of mastery. I admire his determination.
I’m a teacher of music
There is a level of perfectionism that I should have been able to maintain throughout my studies. Instead, I chose to be the B student. I wanted to get through the work, enjoy the process and not wage psychological warfare on myself. Don’t get me wrong, there were moments of great success and I know what it feels like to be proud of my achievement, but to maintain that level of intensity has never been my thing. This is not how one should fly an aircraft. Should I bugger up a phrase, forget a sharp or miss an entry, the only thing hurt will be my ego.
However, when it comes to climbing into an aircraft with someone and trusting them to get me from A to B, I will expect every flight to be worthy of a standing ovation. At least make sure I’m not sick and we land safely.
So far, he hasn’t disappointed me.
I spend much of my time standing in front of primary school children teaching them the fine art of singing. Every half an hour about 25 kids appear at my door and hustle their way in to further develop their brains through the fascinating power of rhythm, melody and harmony. This sounds idyllic but, I can assure you, it can be as mundane as the next job. In fact, there are many days when I desperately want to find a quiet corner, curl up in a small ball, tell the authorities my days as music room warden are over and rock myself to sleep with a very large martini.
On one of those particular days, I was working with a class of 7 year olds as they sprawled across the floor of my classroom trying to transcribe a melody we had been learning into little dots on five music lines. It was hot outside and the air-conditioner had been working since early in the morning when the first rehearsals had begun. I had been in the room since 7:30am and it was now just after 11:30am.
Now, I don’t know if you have ever experienced a classroom soon after a lunch break. Small children have the power to transform a teacher’s workspace into the stuff of nightmares when they are digesting whatever it was they ate for lunch. I was reminding them to be accurate when plotting their notes on the musical staff and that it was just like reading a map. It was at this point that someone in the class rendered my voice mute. A cloud of toxic gas had appeared in the room. Invisible and untraceable, I tried to move away from the stench. It followed me. I choked back tears. I could taste it. I’ve learnt not to call attention to the regular outflow from students’ nether regions as they are quick to react to each other and reduce the class to chaos. Rather than deal with the usual ‘You smelt it, you dealt it’ and ‘You denied it, you supplied it’ arguments, I made a quick detour to my office muttering something about hearing the phone ring. Anything to get away from the stifling pong.
Inside my office I was able to take a cleansing breath and noticed that my mobile phone was cheerfully blinking at me.
A message.
A moment away from the cloud of death was required so I checked it. It was my beloved Cirrus pilot-and-instructor husband, Adam. He had sent me a message, perhaps a note of undying affection? Perhaps he had won lotto and I wouldn’t have to ask for a gas mask for Christmas? The message was short and filled with the unbridled joy he was obviously feeling as he typed it for me:
‘Afternoon cancelled so went to get lunch’ followed by a collection of smiley emojis and a love heart.
Seconds later a photo appeared. It was a picture of the beach at Ballina, New South Wales. The photo had been taken from the deck of a restaurant and showed the clean, blue waters with the delicate curl of white waves. The expanse of the golden beach sand contrasted against the dark green growing on the dunes. The caramel colour of the wet, tidal sand made me think of standing on the edge of the sea as a child and wriggling my feet until the beach swallowed me to my ankles. The sky was clear except for the sweep of a few mare’s tails and I swear I could smell the salt in the air.
Then a giggle from the classroom and the lift of 25 voices as they realised I was out of sight for a moment vacuumed me back into my reality. I thought for a moment of photographing my classroom for him, but even if I was allowed to photograph my students it would never capture the utter ordinariness of my previous, putrid moments. I typed a sardonic message back:
‘Go away.’
A second message almost immediately appeared from his co-pilot, a photograph of my husband sitting in front of a plate of fish and chips, with a wide smile. I sighed and returned to my work.
This was just one of many times I have been sent taunting visual reminders of how lovely his workspace can be. The reason these images tug at me during the mundane moments is because sometimes I get to go with him. Our adventures have seen us flying across the Victoria Desert, over Lake Eyre, into the middle of Australia’s beautiful heart to stay at one of my favourite places, the mighty Uluru. A sacred place that always makes me feel the spirit of my Grandmother. We have flown over the Great Barrier Reef, finding the heart shaped coral reef. We have stayed on islands and experienced the wonderful hospitality for which Australia is renowned.
I have a love of finding open spaces, the more uninhabited, the better. Land me somewhere like Longreach and I will revel in the quiet surrounding the airport. My ears will ring as they strain to hear the traffic to which they are so accustomed. Let me hear the breeze and a few birds and surround me with wonderful Australian space and my heart will sing better than it ever does in the classroom. Let me feel the distance between where I am and where I was. It’s the best way to appreciate this vast, lovely continent.
A flight to Hervey Bay for lunch always makes me reminisce about holidays spent with family. Flying out over Moreton Bay has me hunting for whales and sharks in the waters below.Trips to Canberra to spend time with friends, or Sydney to see family have always been worth the time and experience. Anniversaries, birthdays, joy-flights with friends, the Cirrus provides a happy space to celebrate life. A winter flight will find me snoozing in the sunshine above the clouds, happily zoning out to the radio chatter as Adam guides us somewhere new.
From the moment Adam said he wanted to fly Cirrus I encouraged it. Here was an aircraft that would always get us home. The Cirrus will allow me to save the day if the need should arise. When he is teaching in a Cirrus, I never have a second thought about his safety, I know he will come home. The few times I have found myself tracking him online is when he was in a different aircraft.
The Cirrus is designed to allow people like me to simply relax and enjoy the ride.
And after days spent in classrooms with small, singing nuclear waste factories, I do believe I deserve just that. Now where is that martini…
If you would like to experience the freedom of piloting your own life, enquire now and learn to fly a Cirrus.
LEARN TO FLY