Whether you live in a grand house on the waterfront, or a tiny apartment in a big bustling city, the odds are good you’ve filled that space with physical objects. Things that ostensibly matter to you.
Some of those things were pricey. Acquiring them took effort. Others were quite affordable. They might have been simple impulse buys that made relatively little impression on you. Yet all have some value to you. If they didn’t you wouldn’t have them anymore. You would have discarded them as trash, or clutter, or a useless doodad that no longer serves a purpose in your life.
You have memories, too. Memories of life experiences you’ve had, places you’ve been, goals you attempted to reach. Sometimes with success, sometimes not.
And all those memories, like all the items in your home, have some kind of value to you. They matter. When you recall and reexamine them deep in the night, when you’re all alone and unmolested by the distractions of the day, they may bring a smile or a tear.
This is your life. Those are your things. What’s it all worth to ya?
It’s a peculiar reality that whatever value you put on your life and your things, that value varies dramatically when we bring someone else into the conversation. Your everyday items might be of great value to others or might be of no value at all.
It’s that curious value/devalue equation that leads to such items as Vince Lombardi’s sweater from his days as a coach at West Point ending up in a Goodwill bin. A sweater that was tossed away. A sweater that sold for more than $43,000 at a sports memorabilia auction.
Value, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.
Considering your belongings, you might take the long perspective, look in the mirror, name that item and ask your reflection, “What’s it worth to ya?” Not what was it worth then, when you bought it. Now.
What’s it worth to you now? Has it brought you joy? Has it made your life more convenient or comfortable? Does it still hold a place in your heart or has its luster dimmed over the years?
These questions aren’t nearly as superficial as they might appear. Nor do they limit themselves to physical things. Let’s consider the bigger picture, your life as a whole. Again, I ask, “What’s it worth to ya?”
Did that tech school diploma or college degree pay off the way you hoped it would? Did it lead to a better life, a more interesting day-to-day existence, a higher income, and a more satisfying experience in the long run? Do you regret taking the risks you took or do you harbor qualms about the opportunities you passed up?
These are all questions of reflection. The type of thing old guys like me ask ourselves as we look back on our lives and wonder did I do the right thing? Did I live a worthwhile life? Does my own history and list of accomplishments have value to me or was I just spinning my wheels?
My parents were somewhat concerned when I took up the guitar in 7th grade. I let my hair grow longer, with considerable resistance from the parental units. I joined a band. The band broke up. I started a band. That one broke up too. I moved 1,000 miles away in search of musical opportunities, then came home again after finding nothing that lit my fire.
When my high school friends went off to college and started what they hoped would be lucrative, stable careers, I continued playing in bands. Delaying adulthood. Ignoring the smart option my peers took, the traditional path, the life my high school guidance counselor recommended.
I’ve played in hundreds of bars and clubs. Stepped in front of audiences large and small. I got to make an album, do a little television, move to New York City, stand on the stage at Radio City Music Hall, meet and socialize with my musical heros, and go completely broke in the process.
When I look back on those times today, I don’t regret a thing. I was breathing rarified air and feeling like a million bucks, even when I was eating potatoes for dinner…again. Because often that was all we could afford.
As most bands do, mine eventually broke up, forcing me to come up with a new plan. A new direction in life. I found it in the cockpit of an airplane. Another facet of my new career happened in the hangar with a wrench in my hands. I also found myself at this desk, with a keyboard under my fingertips, averaging a little more than one published piece a week over the past 30 years.
It’s been interesting. Sometimes lucrative, sometimes not, but always satisfying, intriguing, and challenging in a way that made me drift off to sleep thinking about what I might get to do tomorrow. There has been a romance to my working life, and my personal life, because of the unwise, illogical, poorly reasoned choices I made to play professionally rather than work.
Often, I’m asked the obvious question “What does it cost to learn to fly?” I have never been asked the more important question: “What will it cost if I pass up the great, scary, not-entirely practical opportunities available to me?”
Truthfully, I can’t say for sure I know what it might cost you. But I can honestly say it would have cost me one absolutely amazing lifetime that I couldn’t have dreamed was actually possible. Yet it was. And it is. It will continue to be until I take my last breath, whatever comes between now and then.
I suspect the same may be true for others, if they choose to take the more individualized route. Because I have never met anyone, ever, who believed their life was better before they learned to fly. Before they pushed themselves to be more than they were in the past. To take their future into their own hands and craft a life they dream of living.
If I was to offer advice on how to achieve such things, I might start by asking, “What’s it worth to ya’?” If you can answer that question, everything else will just start falling into place.
Jamie, your narrative reminded me of a quote from Sterling Hayden, American actor and author (Asphalt Jungle, The Killing, the Godfather, Dr Strangelove). In his wonderful book “Wanderer”, a narrative of HIS life, he wrote this:
““To be truly challenging, a voyage, like a life, must rest on a firm foundation of financial unrest. Otherwise, you are doomed to a routine traverse, the kind known to yachtsmen who play with their boats at sea… “cruising” it is called. Voyaging belongs to seamen, and to the wanderers of the world who cannot, or will not, fit in. If you are contemplating a voyage and you have the means, abandon the venture until your fortunes change. Only then will you know what the sea is all about.
“I’ve always wanted to sail to the south seas, but I can’t afford it.” What these men can’t afford is not to go. They are enmeshed in the cancerous discipline of “security.” And in the worship of security we fling our lives beneath the wheels of routine – and before we know it our lives are gone.”
At the age of 73 I am wondering what my life will be when I must look BACK at flying. I took my 195 over the hills of the Missouri and Arkansas Ozarks yesterday……what a joy and the value can not be measured.
Spot on Jamie, best challenge I ever took and in no way regret it.
Took it on at age 50 ish and achieved my Recreational license.
Could not have imagined myself without it now.
I don’t even look at the receipts paid for flying it would probably be more scary than doing stalls.
Great comments and views mate .
Thanks Jamie for sharing.
My interest came from sitting on a box outside the fence of Saufley Naval Air field, near Pensacola, watching the smoke from a long line of SNJ’s firing up each morning for the days training missions. The noise was infectious. The rent on a 150 was $17/hr wet as I recall. Had to cut a lot of grass to solo. My first instructor insisted on smoking cigars, so most of time I was air sick, couldn’t see the panel or out the window – flying was by pure feel. Later, a surplus 7AC taught me to navigate with a compass, hand prop alone without killing myself or the Champ.and properly deal with a cross wind. The huge tail fin on a Stinson 108-2 re enforced ground loop training and the finicky old Franklin insisted to you keep your eyes peeled for a place to land to put it back together.Thank goodness peanut and cotton fields are plentiful down this way. Left my tracks in several. Then came the love of my life. A 1949 35A Bonanza that sits in my hangar today. She’s been my magic carpet now for more than 50 years. Fast, efficient and comfortable for my 6’6″ frame. Her finest hour came in Houston when three Braniff 747’s cornered her at a taxiway intersection (one was the famous orange “Great Punpkin”, came on the radio and wanted to know what year model and gave her a thumbs up out the windows. If sheet metal and plexiglass can smile she was beaming and so was I.
What’s it worth – not sure but every time something with a prop flies over i hobble out side on bad knees – to look up and I can hear a six cylinder Continental coming for 10 miles. P&W, 20!
You probably won’t believe this but it’s true, my total cost for flying to earn my private,commercial,instrument,flight instructor CFII, and multi engine ratings was less than $3000 in 1964-1965! I would hate to see what all those ratings would cost today. But I think it still would be worth it! I was lucky to get to fly for TWA for 34 wonderful years.
I remember TWA with fondness. I was a lowly female C-172 pilot, renting from a flying club based at Lambert (Young Aviation). I spent a lot of time watching the big TWA birds land at “our” end of the runway, and as much time as I could afford flying the little birds. One glorious day I taxied out in a brand new American Aviation Yankee that was parked near the club planes, offering rides. A TWA 727 captain ahead of us quipped that he was hoping he wouldn’t melt the Yankee’s wings, as bonded construction was new then. As luck would have it, I bought that Yankee a few years later. Wonderful plane! Unfortunately, the next owner didn’t take the time to understand the characteristics of the fast-wing Yankee, and it was damaged and not rebuilt.
Jamie; well written and well said. Thanks for your positive note. All of us make compromises for dreams, sometimes it “works out” sometimes it “doesn’t”. As I like to say about flying, its the smartest dumb thing I’ve ever done. Yeah, I should have invested the boat load of money in the stock market or a bigger house, but I’ve got the ability to fly like my 10 year old self dreamed about. So thanks or as we millennials like to say YOLO.
And gbigs, no, we don’t need a story of regret. We got plenty of those elsewhere…
Thank you, Jamie … For relating your personal journey to what’s of real value in life. For me, the joy of being a pilot came from a gift; in fact from the greatest gift of this life — my wife and soul mate for now going on 50 years. Back on Christmas 1990, She gave a gift — the voucher for my first flying lesson. Learning to fly was something I always wanted to do, but at age 40 I wondered what do do with it. To make a long story short, this “gift from a gift” led to a meaningful second career with Cessna Aircraft, and now in retirement with my partner in life enjoying my humble little Cessna 150-C and conducting some flight instruction on the side. Thanks again for reminding us that even though we aren’t filthy rich and flying jets every other day, we are wonderfully blessed …
Steve, Very nice story. After a career that began in 1962 in the rights seat of B-25 Tanker 33 and ended in 2007 as Western Regional Manager for the Cessna Pilot Center Program I also feedl I was truly blessed. From 410 in the Citation to 400′ in the 172 looking for leaks it was all good! Now somewhat like Jamie, I get to write a column each month sharing a bit of wisdom and humor. Of course he gets paid! So stay safe out there.
Jim Hackman 1467895 CFII/MEI/ATP CE500
Yours is a great personal story, Jamie .. thanks for sharing all these years.
Need a story about regret? Vincent Van Gogh’s mom, Anna Carbentus had 7 kids. The first was Vincent Willem who died in childbirth. A year later she gave birth to Vincent Willem (named after the first child that died), the artist. Vincent’s mother never understood or appreciated her genius son. Their turbulent relationship ended five years before his death in 1890. Vincent left a few dozen paintings with his mother over the years. She threw them into the trash. She lived long enough to see her deceased son’s reputation rise from obscurity to full recognition when, two years after Vincent’s death a major exposition of his art was shown in Amsterdam. Still his mom was indifferent and never regretted throwing away many masterpieces she and the world lost due to her lack of understanding and her ‘disappointment’ in how her son lived and ‘wasted’ his life.
Did she take flying lessons too?