Let the Pilot Fly

Learning to Trust When You're Not in Control

Welcome back, Writer’s Block Partiers.

And a happy, happy Black History Month! Considering the times we’re in, celebrating is an especially important act of resistance. So, I’m encouraging you to join me in big, bold “block parties” for BHM and all other days and months that seek to recognize, acknowledge, and praise the diverse people who are the backbone of American society—regardless of who tries to deny it.

I’m incredibly glad you’re here.

First, I want to acknowledge those who reached out in reply to last week’s post. Your Sanity Survival Kits are filled with positive prayers like the Prayer of St. Francis, mantras and power phrases like “you write your own narrative,” mental shifts around surrender and embracing the insanity for a period of time, and other helpful and encouraging insights.

As a writer, you put your stuff out to the world and hope something resonates with someone, somewhere. But you have no real gauge of how your work lands. So, it was incredibly helpful to hear back from so many of you last week. Thank you.

When I started this, I was terrified I’d run out of things to say and fall face first into a case of writer’s block. Much to my surprise, the exact opposite keeps happening. I’m finding ideas in the strangest places. And without looking for them, too. Simply proclaiming my desire to write opened my eyes to the world’s ever-present inspiration.

For those who don’t know me, I love to travel. I’ve always been willing to hop on a flight and go, and plane tickets are my love language.

This week, I’m writing from Belize, which is an insane blessing and an awesome destination.

We flew in from Atlanta to Belize City and from there, several resorts are located an additional short flight away in Ambergris Caye.

Stick with me, this isn’t just a humble travel brag, I’m going somewhere with this.

From the main airport and after you clear customs, you hop on a small plane to get to San Pedro. A really, really small plane. Senses heightened and heart still heavy with the weight of the recent plane crash tragedies, I battled doubt about whether we should go. But we ultimately decided to proceed as planned.

As we prepared to board our connecting flight, we lucked up and were the first in line. A kind-eyed airline employee approached us. “Do you want to sit up front with the pilot?” he asked. “It’s the best seat on the plane.”

Without much more thought, I enthusiastically accepted the invitation, took off my backpack, turned to the side, and climbed to the front of the plane and into the captain’s cockpit. The seats were indistinguishable, so I plopped down in what looked like the copilot’s seat, which was fully equipped with flight controls, foot pedals, and yolk (the steering mechanism).

Just before we were about to take off, the pilot hopped in and took his seat next to me. He instructed me to buckle my seatbelt, a five-part contraption that only he and I wore. He was a rather serious gentleman, and you could tell from his demeanor that he knew what he was doing.

Clearly, this wasn’t his first flight.

And it felt like a symbol of where I am right now: scared and strapping myself in, unsure of what the journey will be like, sitting in the control seat with all the levers and gauges in front of me. With zero flying experience.

As we took off and encountered some light “rough air,” I intuitively felt the urge to reach out and grab a handle on the steering gear. Or to press a button. Or help in some way. I glanced down, desperate to busy my hands and calm my nerves and zeroed in on the sign in front of me, which was printed in plain black letters:

“Passengers are not permitted to touch the flight controls.”

I stopped in my tracks and reflected on the instructions. And in an instant, I realized it was the guidance I needed for the flight but also for navigating my current transition.

In actuality, and as I realized, my tampering with the flight controls would not have helped anything. For one, I don’t have the requisite knowledge. And two, the pilot who had more flying experience was in control. Deeper still, my reaching out would only have gotten me in trouble, derailed the flight, and potentially caused considerable harm.

Pause and think about that for a moment.

The realization was hard to accept because I’m a control freak. But I recognized that even though I found myself in the copilot’s seat, my best option was to trust the pilot. And in life, when someone more experienced and better equipped is in control, there are times when we must have faith and let them fly.

As I’ve shared, I have a strong sense of faith, and my personal belief is in God’s presence in that powerful pilot’s seat. Whatever your belief, put your faith in that thing and allow it to guide you. And lean into whatever spiritual practice, prayer, or personal ritual makes you feel closest to that source of energy.

In countless areas of my life, I’ve been so reluctant to relinquish control that I’ve nearly ruined it all. But in this writing journey, I’ve found more peace in surrender than I had in the times when I insisted on asserting my will.

Once I embraced the “no touching the controls” instructions, I enjoyed the flight more. Though I was still on edge, I was able to sit back, see the beautiful overhead landscape with clear eyes, and even snap a few photos.

The pilot did his job impeccably and I ended up with a story to share, some helpful perspective, and a new mantra:

Hands off. Trust the pilot.

Hard as it felt, I did just that. And in so doing, I ended up at a breathtakingly beautiful destination.

In what elements of your life are you in such a rush to control that you’re, consciously or unconsciously, disregarding the “don’t touch the controls” instruction? In your instinctual urge to reach out, have you considered that you may actually throw off the whole flight? Where might you benefit from having more faith in the process and the person or presence actually in control?

I’m logging off and heading to the jungle, but I’d love to hear from you about situations where you’re committing to “letting the pilot fly.” I’ll reply as soon as I’m back.

And if anything in this piece or a prior post resonates in any way, please forward it to a friend. Every ounce of support helps.

Find your joy, protect your peace, and celebrate Black history and brighter days to come.

Until next time…