What about, No!

It may come as no surprise to regular readers that I possess many of the qualities of a people pleaser. That’s not good. In fact, while a category called, “people pleaser” may sound complimentary, it is in fact just the opposite. What starts out as a legitimate and strongly held desire to help others can become a weakness that prevents the individual in question from finding satisfaction and joy in life.  

It’s ironic that an unrestrained desire to be cooperative, to share one’s time and skills with others, can become a slow road to misery and resentment. Knowing that to be true, it is important for those of us who are so inclined to take note of our propensity for generosity and dial back those efforts from time to time. Sometimes, it is not just in our best interest to do so. It’s literally a lifesaver.  

Saying, “No,” does not come easily for many of us. Our compulsion to be of assistance to others often takes precedence over our own self-care. Yet sometimes we must look to our own best interests, if only to focus briefly on self-preservation. 

The first time I found myself having to say, “No,” in an aeronautical context was when flying with a client who was a rated private pilot. He was well out of currency and for reasons that escape my understanding, the owner of the flight school I flew for convinced him that stepping up to a commercial certificate was a better option than simply completing a flight review.  

He was a doctor, not that his profession has much to do with the chain of events that followed. It’s worth noting that he was a well-educated professional, though. Not some uncultured rube who didn’t know the basics of social civility.  

We spent some time in the practice area doing slow flight, turns, re-introducing stalls, and generally giving my client the time to get comfortable remembering the rudimentary aspects of flying. He did well. A little stiff perhaps, but not bad for someone so far from currency.  

Things fell apart when we got into the pattern for landing. On downwind at a non-towered airport I pointed out a motorglider coming off a runway that intersected the one we would be landing on. As a result, their climb-out could potentially interfere with our flight path. I said something to the effect of, “You’ve got a motorglider launching off Runway 11.” Our intended destination was Runway 22.  

This comment threw my client into a tizzy. He began screaming, literally screaming that he was the PIC on this flight and he didn’t need any input from me. He punched the instrument panel, fumed a bit longer, then began to configure the airplane for landing. “Let’s make this a full-stop,” I suggested.  

When we arrived at the tie-down I unbuckled, stepped out, and announced in no uncertain terms, “We’re done. I won’t fly with you again.”  

There is no room in the cockpit for emotional outbursts. I’m not a harsh taskmaster when I’m in the right seat, but even if I was, there is no reason to start an argument and display physical agitation while in flight.  

The owner of the school disagreed. He insisted that I continue flying with the client. I refused. And that dear reader is how I came to leave my first CFI job. If flight safety isn’t the school’s number one priority, I don’t need to be there.  

Sometimes, saying, “No,” is the most important tool you’ve got. You don’t have to be argumentative, or harsh, or belligerent about it. But when your Go/No-Go trip wire is activated, it’s essential to let the people pleaser aspect of your personality take a back-seat. 

Recently I agreed to fly an airplane to the home base of a friend. They were purchasing the airplane but aren’t current and can’t legally or safely do it themselves. I also agreed to act as their CFI to help get them back in the saddle. We agreed to sketch out a plan for getting current after the airplane was home and readily available.  

We drove out to the field where the new-to-my-friend’s airplane was based. It was quite a haul. The ride took long enough that I dozed for a portion of it. I might as well be well-rested and fresh for the flight, right? 

Upon arrival, the plan began to change, however. At least in my head. The airplane was a mess. Mandatory safety features were missing. Corrosion was plentiful and worrisome. The panel was old with multiple inoperative instruments. The tires had noticeable dry rot. As I did my walk-around the list of issues grew. Eventually, I made the call. “I’m sorry,” I said to my friend. “I’m not going to fly this airplane home for you. I just don’t think it’s safe.”  

Now, you might think that would be the end of a friendship. But it wasn’t. You might think angry words were exchanged between the buyer, the seller, and the pilot who refused to fly the airplane. None of that happened. Everyone was respectful. All parties, disappointed though they may be, took the issue of flight safety seriously enough to step back from their own self-motivated concerns and adopt a new perspective.  

The airplane stayed on site. My friend and I are still on good terms. So good in fact, we’re shopping for an airplane to own jointly. We both found a good partner who places safety above expediency. We also found our friendship is more valuable than a collection of sheet metal and rivets.  

Saying, “No,” can be hard. But it can also be the right thing to do. Maybe you don’t feel well. Perhaps the mag drop on one side is excessive. It’s possible you see a wrinkle in the skin of the airplane that wasn’t there the last time you flew it. All are good reasons to step back, take a break, and re-evaluate the situation.  

Yeah, I’m a people pleaser. But I can say, “No,” when I have to. So, there’s hope. I can live with that.