I’ve honestly struggled with the latest accidents that have happened in my profession. Not because the reality of the risks associated with my chosen trade have tragically come to life. Not because the reality that there are things that I cannot control that quickly become inflection points in the industry. Honestly, it’s the abundance of vitriol coming from who I once thought were fellow passionate aviators plaguing everyday conversations about this, all of which appears to be propagating hate and misinformation for no logical reason whatsoever.
What part of our nature empowers us to belittle a fellow human? Innate in our psyche, philosophers for decades dug deep into their own understandings hoping to find that which motivates us not only for survival, but for success. Laymen like me use ChatGPT and interestingly enough personal insecurities comes up on top of the list.
Quasi-artificial intelligence throwing some shade at its creator. Now I know how God feels.
Thoughts on this matter have become a myriad of half-written retorts trying to restore balance to my soul, and, honestly, an attempt to do the same within my circle of influence. Moments hoping to finally plow through a book I’ve had checked out from the library for the last few months now being reallocated to learning more about what is it about our kind that brings forth such deconstructive efforts. Then, tie in a few challenges in my work these last few weeks, and, well, it’s been a month.
I could have shared some of these other thoughts I’ve had, but there’s something my father taught me that has not only warmed my soul but brought forth memories you’ve been fishing for just waiting to bite. And if this didn’t all start with a moment with the youngest parts of my family (while the others are away at a youth conference) enjoying the reincarnated Sweet Tomatoes and a few rounds reliving the glory days while teaching my kids how to play Dance Dance Revolution, I don’t know if it would have happened. But Pops always knew that a warm meal and some quality time together were instrumental in healing things not known to be broken.
Yeah, I’d like to talk about these tragic accidents. I’d like to talk about the unimaginable thoughts that are going through the minds of these aviators and their families. But I’d like for them to tell their stories, and the truth to come out and squash those who pander to our innate immaturities to question and belittle our own kind. Knowing what I know about truth, I know this will take some time. Time that could cause these errant echo chambers to build momentum and eradicate even the most educated and their efforts to restore professional, constructive commentary.
And while I wait for the truth, I’ll be enjoying a warm meal here and there. And a few rounds of DDR. Maybe even some Mario Kart. Hell, anything better than quarreling in my mind on the recurring repugnance one found online. I can only imagine the plight of those two professional aviators who had a front seat view to the source of all these nonsensical blogs, videos, and news articles, and my heart aches for them and their families. Overjoyed they survived, embarrassed for what our kind have said on the matter.
I’d love to share with them a warm meal, and maybe a few rounds pretending to know how to dance while pressing arrow buttons with our feet to the beat. Not to hear their why, but to have a day like I had yesterday. Because they certainly deserve a few of these days that remind us that regardless of what hats we wear, regardless of our upbringings, a warm meal and some quality time together do quite well healing things not known to be broken.