Many of you have asked me how I found the nerve to leave my job - to move to the beach - and not have a job to go to, and what beach? Where was I going to live?
I would laugh and say, I’m sure whatever beach I go to, there will be a couple of palm trees where I can hang a hammock, and I’ll make jewelry out of shells! It sounded silly when I said it out loud, but in my head, I was serious.
How DID I get here? I’ve done a lot of thinking about that recently, about the times in my life that I just said, I don’t know how this is going to work, but I’m going to do it. It’s strange because I always thought of myself as pretty risk averse - not at all fearless - I would rarely try something new if I weren’t reasonably sure I would be good at it immediately. I needed to feel safe.
What I keep coming back to is the moment 25 years ago: alone, sitting in the left seat of a tiny, two-seater Cessna, 152 - about the size of a Barbie car - at the end of an 11,000-foot runway (that’s almost 2 miles long!) waiting for clearance to take off.
My first solo flight.
Today's episode is about how it felt learning to fly and how the experience of getting my pilot's license was a lot like moving to the beach.
I believe that our most powerful memories are etched into our brains by the feelings attached to them. The details might not be the same - but the feelings are, and now that I actually live at the beach, when I think about all that I went through to get here - I can feel it all: from fear and trepidation to awe and joy.
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