Each season of life has its own theme. Unfortunately, the seasons of life sometimes become the themes of our lives. This causes a major conflict internally, because seasons do change, and so must we.
Have you ever two-stepped? It’s a not exactly the most difficult dance going. Though, if the beat is right, you’ll get your feet stepped on, your heart rate up, and you’ll likely bump into a few of the other people dancing next to you. And sometimes, if the beat is really good, you’ll forget that the band will eventually stop playing, and you’ll stop dancing. I love the two-step.
It is now February and the two-stepping shindig that has been my life for the last three years is drawing do a close. Two of my students told me recently that they are going to miss me when I am gone at the end of this academic year. When they said it, it was like the band playing that first deep note of the last slow song of the night. It set me back in my chair. ‘I’m Dallas,’ I thought.
(The back story for those of you just joining me: Dallas was my flight instructor in my first year of aviation. He is one of my closest friends. All flight instructors at the school at which I work have a one-year, non-renewable contract. On May 15th of each year, the instructors pack their bags and move on.)
I remember how I felt the day that Dallas left. It was as if my whole aviation career was over. I just sat there. I had no idea what the next year would be like. I was truly a solo pilot at that point. It was like leaving home for the first time. I missed him. That season was over.
Now here at the last slow dance, I am seeing three great years of my life winding down. Certainly, my feet were stepped on a time or two, and I know I bumped into a few people while I was here, but man, I wouldn’t trade the last three years for anything. And in this last dance, I see all close friends I gained. I found a passion, and I met myself. I think that it is one of the great tragedies in life that we don’t know how good everything is until we are looking back and thinking about how good it was. There wasn’t a single moment in those three years when I just sat and took in the moment. I always thought about the next thing that needed to get done, and the thing after that.
This song will soon be over, and the familiar faces will become familiar voices, and some of those voices will remain familiar and others will fade in time.
I have a friend who is a doctor. He once told me that the years that he was in med-school were the best years of his life. Despite being broke, and personality conflicts in his residency, he looks back at those years as his favourite. I never believed him until this month.
We are dirt poor. We live in a small shithole town where the stores close at six, and nothing but the gas station is open on Sundays. Our bank account is nothing but red, and I work way too much. But I have never been so blessed.
There were a handful of really crappy things that happened while we have lived here. But when I leave, I know all I will think about are the smiles. I will remember the feeling of coming to consciousness when I found out that Laura was pregnant with Katie. I will remember the flight home after passing the private pilot test. I will remember the big damned grin on my first solo student’s face, and the feeling that gave me. I will remember nearly being killed and not only smiling about it, but laughing about it.
A season is like the wind, you can feel it only. The moment that you capture it, it is gone. It is the season that rushes around us, leaving us with only memories to be worn as merit badges. I will remember this season with affection, and I don’t want it to go, but the same wind that blew this season in, is calling me on, just like the M.C. at the end of the night, “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”
