Striving for perfection's more important than achieving it
First let's talk about life in these United States. Our twenty-first-century society is drawn to perfection like pilots to big watches. Perfection as in nothing less than the gold standard, no excursions off the main thoroughfare of life, no sub-par performances. No sitting on the bench, nothing but A's in school. It won't be long before society itself is ISO 9003 certified. All processes analyzed, standardized, and sanitized. Precision, and perfection, in all things. The flawed need not apply.
How does our contemporary vision of an error-free world fit with the activity of flying? It does, and it doesn't.
On one hand, safety demands that precision and perfection be core objectives in flying. Beginning with primary instruction, we are taught precise airspeeds (best angle, best rate, best glide, maneuvering speed, flap extension speed, never-exceed speed, etc.). We learn to calculate a precise center of gravity location. We set pitch trim precisely, and we use precise language on the radio.
There's little room for error or interpretation in some of what we do in flying because of the inherent risk, so we're schooled in precise procedures. If we accidentally select the Off position when checking magnetos before takeoff, the engine immediately cuts out. It's a bit embarrassing, but easily corrected. No such impossible-to-ignore warning will alert us, however, if we incorrectly set the flaps before takeoff. The potential consequence of such a gross error is significantly degraded and possibly dangerous takeoff and climb performance. That's why instructors insist that students learn to use and rely on checklists - to make sure all necessary procedures are completed and to avoid potentially costly oversights.
Nowhere is the demand for precision and perfection more important than in our primary flying equipment - the airplane. Safety drives aircraft design standards, but the marketplace also is an important factor. Imperfect, underperforming equipment can't compete. Airplanes with inadequate horsepower, poor handling, or cheesy construction do not survive against better competitors.
Along with the airplane, we count on the equipment in it to operate perfectly every time. In particular, by their very nature advanced avionics are expected to perform with precision and perfection. And, thanks to the safety imperative embraced by manufacturers, some good old marketplace competition, and diligent maintenance and care on our part, we're rarely disappointed.
Precision and perfection are indeed central to flying. So are imprecision and imperfection. This is where we come in - we as in imperfect, imprecise human beings. Try as we might, we don't always get it exactly right. Sometimes we're not even close.
One of the great pleasures of flying is taxiing out to the runway and having the sense that everything is going especially well. The engine seems to run slightly smoother than normal. The nosewheel tracks the taxiway centerline like it was on rails. On takeoff just the right amount of back pressure on the yoke lifts the nosewheel a few seconds before the main wheels leave the runway surface. Trim changes are anticipated and adjustments made even before any pressure is felt on the yoke. We're in the zone - that almost surreal state of mind that athletes speak of when they have a heightened sense of awareness and can perform at a higher level. After landing, the flight can be logged as being as close to perfect as we're likely to experience.
How is it, then, that after a fuel stop or en route landing we can get back in the same airplane and feel like rookies who can't seem to do much of anything with precision or perfection? Instead of being in the zone we feel we're barely in the batter's box. It's no longer a question of the mind sprinting ahead of the airplane. We're working awful hard just to keep up.
Why does this happen? If we know the techniques and procedures needed to fly the airplane properly and well, why don't we perform consistently on every flight, especially on repetitive legs on the same day? Part of the answer may be fatigue. Fatigue degrades performance. It doesn't take much, either; just the onset of fatigue can begin to nibble at the edges of some skills. Miss a radio call from the air traffic controller? Suddenly realize the airplane is a couple of miles off course? When a silly mistake or two occurs in the late stages of a long flight, take it as the first clue that the internal batteries are beginning to discharge.
Changing conditions also affect the performance of both airplane and pilot. For the human in the left seat it could be anything - a crosswind where there was none before, afternoon clouds and turbulence from surface heating, or frustration over a botched attempt to start a hot engine. Any deviation from the norm can lead to a deviation in pilot performance.
The fact that we are humans - that we think, have emotions, and get tired - guarantees that we won't perform with precision and perfection each and every time. We're people, not droids. We're dynamic; we have physical and emotional highs and lows, good days and bad, and we aren't very good at predicting which way it'll go at any one time.
This inconsistency actually is one of the reasons to enjoy flying. The fun is not so much in realizing perfection, but in reaching for it. I get satisfaction from critiquing my performance, analyzing why I'm not doing something as well as I could or should be doing it, and applying those lessons the next time. It's a constant quest to improve.
Without question we should strive for perfection every time we fly, but the more interesting part is the striving, not the achievement. Humans thrive on detecting problems and either solving them or, if that's not possible, figuring out how to cope. Even when everything - our equipment and ourselves - is expected to perform flawlessly, we accept that it will not always be the case. We appreciate the imperfection of flying. It's the essence of hangar flying - telling tales, both true and tall, about our less-than-perfect flights.
Most of the interesting and fulfilling pursuits in life are based on chasing the elusive goal of overcoming human foibles and flaws to achieve perfection. Whether it is performing music, playing golf, sustaining relationships, or practicing landings, the often-frustrating but satisfying-at-heart struggle for perfection is what keeps us coming back for more.
Each of us might have a different answer to the question of why we fly, but I think most of us would agree that if each flight were perfect, flying wouldn't be as much of the challenge that it is. It wouldn't be as fulfilling, and it wouldn't be nearly as much fun.
Mark Twombly is a writer and editor who has been flying for 35 years. He is co-owner of a Piper Twin Comanche and recently obtained his commercial multiengine rating.
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