It’s no wonder so many people want to make aviation a career. Flying for a living represents a perfect example of the American Dream. Practically anyone who works hard enough can learn to fly, progress through the ratings, instruct, and get a job flying for the airlines. Then it’s an upgrade to captain, bigger airplanes, longer routes, more time off, better pay, a house in the suburbs, two cars, two kids, and a dog. It’s upward social mobility specified by a contract.
Which isn’t always a good thing. It seems every working pilot has a story of a colleague who advanced not through skill, but through the love-hate arrangement that is seniority. With thousands of pilots flying for most airlines, seniority is probably the only fair way to guarantee mobility, coordinate scheduling, and administer layoffs. That it will sometimes work to your benefit and other times cause you frustration is inevitable. Regardless of how you feel about it, your seniority number—based on the date you are hired—will rule your career. Many pilots can’t get over the politics of seniority, the union, and management. What results is Captain Grumpy, who advises against a flying career—even if he has done well for himself.
While it may be true that being an airline pilot has lost much of its glamour, the most important perk of the job remains—the flying. The thrill of 40,000 pounds of thrust kicking you in the back, being able to look at weather from above, cruising at three-quarters of the speed of sound six miles above the Earth, and the incredible technical and mental challenge of mastering an airplane that can weigh more than a locomotive, will always be there.
The happiest pilots are those who still love the flying, who still embrace the dream for what it is—a unique privilege that has similar downsides to any job. They have the ability to separate flying from the unsavory aspects of the job. Some captains even implement rules on the flight deck that more or less forbid talk of anything related to the company. When that door closes, it’s all about the art and science of flight—just like it’s been since the first entry in the logbook.
Flight Training columnist Bob Schmelzer reminds me of this all the time. Bob is a Boeing 777 check airman, and he’s always sending me photos of new pilots he’s checked out on the way to or from his normal route to China. The smiles remind me of first solo photos.
Setting up a career plan can make one prone to anxiety. There’s the time, the money, maybe giving up a good job—and that’s all before the self-doubt begins. Despite aviation’s seemingly mysterious hiring practices and unsure marketplace, it holds an advantage few other careers can claim. As you weigh the very real ups and downs of a flying career, you need only ask yourself one simple question. Do you truly love to fly? If so, go for it. Everything else will work itself out.
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