I was more than a little happy after my last flight, taking my brother on a brunch trip to Muskoka. It was the first flight where I’d had to do the flight planning for real, where I’d had to deal with flight plans and flight services and proper navigation and all that jazz.
I was mildly elated that we made it there in one piece, despite the blustery north winds trying their best to shake the controls out of my hands. It was a high workload flight for sure and for the most part I did OK, I mean I got myself, two passengers and the plane there and back intact.
I even managed some funky stuff on return to city, but in reflection now I see so many things that I could have done better, some things I didn’t even think of at all and some things that I deferred to Bob’s judgement perhaps more than I should have.
Before this flight I was convinced that I was well on my way to getting that license, I was a pilot; dammit and nothing was going to stop me. It was just a matter of time.
Now, in reflection, I’m once again daunted by the epic scale of the task ahead of me. In terms of conquering that mountain, I’ve barely made base camp.
Does everyone pull their own performance apart like this, or am I just overly critical?