Why did I do it? To show off, to prove myself, to get attention, to accept a challenge. A little bit of each, I assume. What certainly was not involved the first time I set foot on the airfield was a passion for flying.

I had just recently gotten over my fear of flying. That is, my clammy hands did not cling to my armrests anymore. Neither did I sink into a deep, begging prayer, asking a higher power to spare myself and anyone on the plane I was travelling with. There was just as little reason for my fear easing as there had been for it to appear in the first place. Yet, as my new position involved frequent travelling – of which a fair amount as above the ground – I gratefully accepted its disappearance.

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The momentum

It was an encounter that teared me out of my everyday life. It was a momentum that kept me rushing forward, too fast to see where I was going. I was accelerating and I knew, I would either crash or take off.

I crashed.

But I also took off. And this is, what the story that will unfold through this blog is about: The flapping of a butterfly’s wing that unleashed a hurricane. In less dramatic and more ordinary terms, you might say: a swipe to the right that sweapt me off my feet.

This is the story of how I came to learn to fly. Despite my fear of flying.