I've always known the roar of engines. Even now, when a plane cuts through the sky above me, I can often tell you what it is just by listening. A distant rumble becomes an Airbus A320. A deeper thunder—maybe a 777 heading across the ocean. It's more than a hobby. It's a language I learned to speak before I ever had the chance to fly.
I wanted to be a pilot. Not the casual kind of wanting—the deep, aching kind that keeps you awake at night, staring at contrails dissolving into blue. I dreamed of cockpits and checklists, of holding the yoke as the world fell away beneath me. But life had other plans. Circumstances, as they often do, pulled me in a different direction.
Still, aviation never left me. It couldn't.