Flying Airplanes

The other day I read somewhere that a 1 degree adjustment in an airplane’s trajectory will cause it to stray 1 mile off course for every 60 miles traveled. That 1 degree adjustment will land us in a slightly different neighborhood on a flight from Phoenix to LA, but an entirely different city on a flight from New York to LA.

I mention this not to highlight the geographic superiority of my hometown in traveling to the lovely state of California, but rather to accent the role that time plays in mediating trajectories and outcomes.

I’m sure you have a few questions. How far is New York from LA? How fast do planes fly? How far east can you head before you’re actually just heading west? Why is any of this relevant?

I will leave the first two to your curiosity, the third to your imagination (and Socrates), but I will attempt to answer the fourth. Let’s start a little closer to the beginning.

When I first strode onto the dew-soaked lawn of Duke University five and half years ago, with a carry-on suitcase, a doozy of a sunburn, and a mild case of homesickness, there were a lot of things I did not know. Some standouts include: how to do laundry, what time management was, what trying too hard looked like, what trying too hard felt like, who coined the phrase “coin the phrase”, and last, but not least, where I was going. Where I was going in the literal sense (it took me quite a while to find my dorm room), but more importantly, where I was going in the broader sense. What outcomes lay ahead based on my current trajectory?

I won’t pretend like 18-year-old me actually thought about questions like the last one. I was way too busy thinking about how proud the guy who snuck the letter “b” into the word subtle must’ve been of himself.

Anyways, when I wasn’t contemplating the subtleties of the English language, I usually did stuff. Eventually, all the stuff I did (with the help of a few lucky bounces) led me to where I am today. And now, as I sit here, largely bereft of social interaction and chock-full of hindsight, I am able to ask certain questions of myself. And while I don’t know what 18-year-old Jarred would say in response to these questions, I do know what 23-year-old Jarred has to say. 12 months home (and counting), back from the hustle and bustle of New York City (formatting PowerPoints while other people actually hustled and bustled), holed up in my childhood bedroom (slightly redecorated, but broader glory preserved), I have become quite the multi-tasker. That is to say I am able to ponder some pretty big questions at night, while simultaneously brushing my teeth.

These questions include, but are not limited to: What turns did I take over the course of the last 6 years that led me to where I am today? What sort of course corrections might have led me elsewhere? Would these places be better? Might they be worse? Does it matter? Do I matter? Does whether or not I matter, matter?

My initial approach was to use the blunt tools of logic, reason, and probability to bludgeon the truth out of life’s deepest questions. I was as successful in these endeavors as you might imagine. But in attempting to trace the roots of my current situation, to parse out the determinants of my trajectory, I gained something far more valuable than answers — the ability to ask questions. Real, honest questions. No agenda. No ulterior motive. Just a pure, unadulterated quest for the truth. And though my philosophical abilities still leave much to be desired, grappling with these questions has helped me realize a few things. Whether these “things” are true is a different story, but I suppose that is for me to find out.

So, what am I able to take away from all of this?

The first, and perhaps the most obvious, is that I need to get outside more. Maybe go for a stroll, sniff a couple of roses.

The second is that one of the fun (though terribly frustrating) parts about life, is that the answers to these questions will forever remain unknown. That being said, I make a concerted effort not to be deterred by futility. For it is often beneath futility that we find utility. By this I mean that while pondering these questions may change nothing about my current situation, it does provide some benefit to my current self. I believe that changing my interpretation of the past is tantamount to changing the past itself. My past is only as fixed as my interpretation of it. I am what I remember, and to reframe my memories is to emerge anew.

The third is that (to my ego’s chagrin) I may not in fact be the almighty pilot traversing the, often nebulous, always treacherous, open skies, thrust forward by nothing but sheer will and determination. Rather, it is more likely that I am the willing participant in a dynamic plot, largely driven by wonderful people, tremendous opportunities, a few stretches of turbulence, and lots of improbable encounters that could only be overlooked by an 18-year-old boy, too busy wondering how the guy who slipped the letter “b” into “subtle” must have felt.

The fourth is that it is helpful to check our rearview mirrors every once in a while, even when (or maybe especially when) moving fast. There is a key distinction, albeit a fine line, between dwelling on our past and reflecting on our path. The former stands to hinder progress, while the latter stands to optimize it.

The fifth is that becoming hell-bent on reaching some destination, regardless of the turbulence that will inevitably be encountered is likely not the best approach to flying. The act of planning is helpful. The resulting plans are not. Not because they aren’t well thought out. Mostly because they are. Constrained by our inability to predict the future, our carefully crafted and profoundly flawed blueprints of how we believe things should unfold tend not to account for the thunderstorm that suddenly changes course and is now bearing down on the nose of our aircraft, the leaking gas tank that was fine at take-off, and the bird that just took out our left engine.

Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.

Are we still talking about airplanes?

Now just to be clear, I am not suggesting the best way to live life is with one eye on the road and the other on the rearview mirror. I am actually not suggesting anything at all. I’m just a guy with a laptop and an internet connection, who has a bit too much time on his hands, and who, on occasion, likes to get existential. Nothing more. Nothing less.

I wish I could provide insight into how best to navigate your aircraft. Some “well-packaged flying tips.” I really do. Unfortunately, I often find myself struggling to keep my own aircraft aloft. For this reason (among others) I don’t think becoming a flight instructor (meddling in the lives of others) is going to do anyone any favors. I will, however, make one final observation.

I think that they might have tricked us. Whoever “they” are doesn’t particularly matter. All that matters is that somewhere along the way they tricked us into believing that it’s their job to ask the questions and our job to blindly pursue the answers. They tricked us into believing that our value in the world is directly proportional to our ability to arrive at these answers. What they did not tell us is that our trajectory is determined by the questions we seek to answer. When we are not the ones asking the questions, we are destined to arrive at a destination we did not choose.

The journey begins with the question.

To go forward, we must first go backward.

To go onward, we must first go inward.

I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m on my way.

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