I wait in anticipation while sitting at a little wooden desk that has been in the same spot for 20 years. The sound of the room is deafening, the ticking of the analog clock that my eyes have been fixed on for at least 30 minutes. The small hand just doesn’t seem to move while the large hand spins in rapid circles. The low ding of the artificial bell comes over the speaker and I am the first out of the classroom rushing to my car. 

I leave the gates of Wando and turn right off of Warrior Road. As I accelerate, I take note of the cloud speed against the treeline and notice a few raindrops on my windshield. I arrive at the parking lot and back into a space between two all-black tinted Tahoes, a sign that the airport is crowded with business people flooding into our town. The anticipation of escape fills me with joy.

It’s only 30 minutes before I make the call, “Mount Pleasant, skyhawk six-five-five-kilo-mike, taking off runway one-seven, Mount Pleasant.” I bank left passing directly over Wando while entering the departure pattern, where school buses are already lining up as I ascend to 4,000 feet to execute maneuvers over the shoreline of Isle of Palms. 

Every morning is the same, mundane nature of school; but every afternoon offers a different adventure.

As I cross the Intercoastal Waterway, I reach my desired altitude and I can finally coast, but my hand is still firm on the yoke as if my life depends on it; because it does. 

Whether I am crossing Charleston Harbor about to land on John’s Island or cruising north into Awendaw to practice stall recovery over Bull’s Bay, every afternoon is different, but one thing is constant: my love for the sky. 

At just seven years old, I became fascinated with the world of flight. The Wright Brothers were forever my idols; seeing images of their historic first takeoff for a flight that lasted just 12 seconds empowered me to want the same feeling of soaring straight into the wind while watching the ground beneath escape from under my feet. 

Growing up in a military family, I was exposed to the professional side of flying from an early age. My father, both a helicopter and single-engine pilot, instilled in me the thrill of flying, which has significantly boosted my confidence in my career path. Coming from this military legacy, I constantly feel the pressure of the strict rigor that comes with being a pilot. I have been told countless times that “flying is too expensive” or that “I will never get through the rigor of flight school unless it’s through the military.” Each time I hear this, it dawns on me that I am choosing the wrong path for my life, but I am reminded of why I am doing this every time I lift off the runway, and when every worry of the world escapes in the rushing wind. 

It is every child’s dream to sit in a hunk of metal and to coast at over 100mph. Watching the ants below that I once called people going about their hectic and ordinary lives, while I am in the sky and everything stops. It is just me, the plane, and the endless highway that is the sky. 

While approaching Charleston Harbor, I hard bank left and make a complete 180-degree turn back up the beach. The container ships below me are moving quickly, paralleling the fast-paced life occuring on the Earth beneath my temporary reality in the sky. 

It is not as routine as one would think. As a student pilot, I like to think I am a more accurate meteorologist than the local weatherman. The difference is that the weathermen predict the weather from the ground in an air conditioned building, whereas predicting the weather whilst in the sky is predicting the fate of my life. 

The atmosphere is just space. Space that I have free range in where I am not limited to the road, limited to opportunities, or limited to the bustling nature of Mount Pleasant. 

I check my watch that is strapped to my wrist like a handcuff. It is time to begin landing procedures. My speed gets reduced and the flaps come down, and the ground begins to get closer and closer until I can recognize the maze of the neighborhoods below. 

I touch onto the ground, and with that, land back in reality.