Back in the days when I used to socialize, there was always a danger that people would find out that I had a pilot certificate.   I do like talking about flying; it certainly beats talking about psychology.   Then those nice people would occasionally interject that they had wanted to take flying lessons at some point in their lives, but for some reason didn’t have the time or money to do it.

I like to encourage people to take it up, so although I couldn’t help them with the time problem, I would point out that flying lessons cost about the same as psychotherapy and would likely give the same result.  While I thought that was a good answer, and sometimes got a mild chuckle out of it, I didn’t pay much attention to the fact that a lot of people can’t afford therapy either, even under the euphemistically labeled Affordable Care Act.

The truth is, for me, flying has always been a form of psychotherapy.   They do have a lot in common.

When taking flying lessons, we are alone in an enclosed space with someone who likely knows a lot more about their chosen field of study than do we.   And thus, there is a mentorship component to the relationship.   I have learned a lot from both good and bad flight instructors, and I have learned a lot from good and bad therapists.  

Just as a good therapist helps us to reframe the world, that is, to understand our world in different ways, so too does flying an airplane.   In an airplane, we quite literally see the world from a different perspective.    People, trees, and cars all get smaller and less significant, perhaps a good lesson to learn on or off a therapist’s couch.   And at the same time, we can see a lot more of the world from 10,000 feet in the air.    Both therapy and flying give us a larger, more expansive view of the world.   In learning to fly they say that when you get lost, you should climb higher.   You can see more of the world that way.    And, in that sense, you not only are more inclined to find your way, you also “rise above” the petty.   As Bill said to Horatio once on a barstool in Paducah, “There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”  I think the bar was in a little hamlet just outside of Paducah, actually.

For me, high on the list is the fact that it’s difficult to fly an airplane without achieving a sense of awe and wonder.    We can certainly see a rainbow from the ground, but we are seeing only half of it.   In the air, you can see the full glory of it, which is undoubtedly why it’s called a glory.   Experiencing nature’s awe and wonder have been demonstrated by some cool research to relieve depression, and flying can give you a big dose of it.   Although not instrument rated, I have flown through clouds, and once you experience the magic of the whiteout when entering a cloud, you will likely want to do it again and again.

Those of us who fly airplanes can attest to that moment of awe that occurs just as you gently pull the stick or yoke closer to your heart and the airplane defies the planet. Physiologically, you become a whisper lighter, your breath shortens in the subtlest way, and your heart beats just a little quicker.  

Psychologists who are trained in a traditional approach are taught that one of their tasks is to “perfectly tune and perfectly time” their interpretations, with the underlying intention to spark a moment of insight.    That fleeting instance of insight may be the closest thing to departing the earth.   In Vladimir Nabokov’s autobiography, Speak, Memory, he reports his uncle Ruka’s last words as “Now I understand.   Everything is water.”   There is a quality of release, however momentary, to an “aha” moment of insight.

Another thing psychotherapy and aviation have in common is that, when done well, they both have a way of boosting resilience.   Every landing that is walked away from is a good one, the saying goes, because landing an airplane requires facing the challenges built into the fact that humans aren’t engineered to fly, nor do our intelligent designs achieve the elegance of the perfectly engineered bird.   Nature prefers airplanes to fall out of the sky, tossed and buffeted by the air masses in which they don’t belong, and landing safely means competently managing those forces.    Each landing we walk away from boosts resilience, and every therapy session in which we manage the terror brought up by broken memories, distorted thoughts and mishandled impulses makes us more resilient as well.

Though I have spent my life supporting myself and family as a psychologist, and I do value an examined life, I don’t for a moment think it’s for everyone.    These days, and those others as well, life’s arsenal for coping with the challenges we face in our wild and precious lives is abundant.   It is up to each of us to choose our own weapon.