Written By Ishitha Arekapudi
Fourteen years old, fueled by a daunting dream, staring at a world covered in an icy morning rain. That was the reality that greeted me on countless days and early mornings during my glider training. While most teenagers were still navigating the social complexities of school hallways, I was drawn to the vast, captivating spaces above, chasing a freedom that I felt deeper than anything I had ever experienced.
Gliders, quite honestly, are daunting in and of themselves. Pictures yourself miles away from an airport, with no engine, at mercy to the wind. The fact that gliding is both calm and terrifying makes the experience almost unnatural. This feeling draws me towards them, and as a teenager, I don’t think I could’ve done anything else in high school that would parallel the feelings of flying. The captivating feel from the plane, whether glider or airplanes, is one that you can’t leave. I remember hearing a quote from Leonardo da Vinci a couple of years ago that has stuck with me. He said that “when once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward. For there you have been, and there you will always long to return.” I don’t think there’s any other way to explain the meaning of flying to a pilot, and the feelings of home within a plane.
The journey wasn’t easy. Early mornings, bleary-eyed with numb shaky hands from the biting cold, hauling the glider, struggling with club conflicts – every step was a test of dedication. There were days when fear, disguised as doubt, would whisper the questions: “Am I even good enough? Is this the right path?” But the moment I lifted my head and saw the first form of light pierce through the storm clouds, there would be hope again. It was a silent promise – a piece of the reward waiting beyond the seemingly incredulous struggles.
My instructor, an experienced airline pilot, pushed me, challenged me, and furthered a dedication he saw within me. I never considered every safe landing or every mastered maneuver an accomplishment of a skill, but rather a furthering of my dreams to become a pilot.
Then came the day. The rain had receded, leaving behind a crisp, clear sky that seemed to hold its breath in anticipation, for what felt like the first time in months. My heart thumped a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I strapped myself in, the familiar tug of the harness grounding me and reminding me of the countless times I had done this before with my instructor. My instructor’s words echoed in my ears as the tow plane surged forward, pulling me higher and higher for the first time by myself.
I distinctly remember the conversation with another club member as I strapped into the cockpit. “You feeling nervous?” asked the glider pilot.
“I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous before,” I laughed back.
“You know the thing about pilots? They’re always ready, but what separates a good pilot from an average pilot is that same feeling. If you’re not nervous to a certain degree then you shouldn’t be flying,” he pointed back.
The release felt daunting, the connection of another plane gone. But then, the world shifted. The world transformed as the ground shrank beneath me, revealing fields, lakes, and roads like a pattern. The air became a living feeling, one whom I had to trust. Suspended in flight, I felt not only a sense of freedom but a feeling of home. My initial nervousness melted away, replaced by courage that I could do this. At 14, I never thought that I was capable of being so utterly in control. With each movement of the control stick, I made my own path, one that I never wanted to let go of.
The cars, the people, the roads below felt small, yet I felt a strange connection towards them. The vastness and freedom I felt weren’t mine alone. It belonged to everyone, waiting to be discovered. This experience single-handedly transformed a core part of me, and ever since then I’ve been a keen advocate for youth in the aviation industry.
That first solo flight, to me, was more than just the lack of an instructor’s voice. It was the absence of every external force, every expectation, and every judgment. Not many compare flying to an art, but in that moment it felt like I was going beyond and creating, creating a world for myself. As I touched down, gently embraced by the ground, I carried with me that feeling of freedom. Stepping out of the cockpit, I couldn’t shake the feeling of flight from me and I didn’t feel like simply a 14-year-old anymore. I felt like I had a purpose, and I wanted, needed, to share that with anyone who considers themselves interested. Through this work, I’ve had the opportunity to speak to thousands of students and work with organizations to further implement youth into the opportunities in this field.
It didn’t feel like the ending stage of a journey, it felt like the opening of many. After my first ever flight, I didn’t think I would feel such passion again but this solo flight changed everything again. Each subsequent flight, each challenge overcome, each landing mastered, became a testament to the lessons learned that day. The fear of failure transformed into a driving force, a constant reminder of the heights I could reach and the heights I could help others reach.
And the inspiration? It spilled over into every aspect of my life. As a freshman in high school, from facing academic challenges to pursuing extracurricular endeavors, the memory of that solo flight served as a constant reminder: anything is possible if you have the courage to take the leap. There’s been a point in everyone’s life where nothing has felt possible, and I look back to this moment and think that if I could do it then, I can do it now. I truly hope everyone can find within themselves that courage, and simply believe because I know you can.
However, the experience wasn’t without its humbling moments. Weather shifts could turn a hopefully flight day into a prolonged day with nothing accomplished, reminding me of the balance between dedication and acceptance with a pilot’s need to be flexible. Each challenge chipped away at the gnawing back thoughts during that first solo flight, replacing it with an ambition to soar.
The impact moved beyond my personal journey. Sharing my experiences with others, especially youth, ignited a curiosity and proved the need for youth in this field. In a way, I became a conduit of sorts, passing on the knowledge from my mentors, hoping to inspire them to make their own dreams, be it within the cockpit of a glider or in the landscapes of their own lives.
And even today, a few years later, when life throws its curveballs, the lessons learned in that open cockpit resonate in me. When faced with a seemingly insurmountable challenge, I close my eyes and see myself back up there. The fear may still be present, but the memory of that courage whispers, “You’ve done it before, you can do it again.” It’s a quiet confidence, a reminder, that the sky isn’t the limit – it’s the starting point. For so many people who are told the skies the limit, who want to fight out against the seemingly harmless limits, to reach beyond and go beyond what we as a community have thought possible.
