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Living Consciously

A reader shares another lesson on living well from Dr. Story Musgrave.
By Lane Wallace / Published: Jun 30, 2010

I got a letter today from a reader, and it was so good that I thought it was worth sharing. It was written by a Colorado man named Peter Ismail, in response to my "Exploring vs. Figure Skating" column that just came out in the July issue. In the column, I'd discussed a conversation I'd had with astronaut Story Musgrave about his explorations and missions in space, and the difference between being a left-brained commander and a right-brained explorer.

Here's the letter:

Dear Flying, I'm glad that Lane Wallace had the pleasure of speaking to Dr. Story Musgrave, and shared the experience with your readers (July's Flying Lessons, "Exploring vs. Figure Skating"). As I read her comments about Dr. Musgrave and, in particular, the words "a far more right-brain immersion in a moment or experience," I was reminded of a remarkable encounter I experienced with this Renaissance man. I was at the Cape [at the Kennedy Space Center] for the STS-98 launch, and purely by chance I met Dr. Musgrave. He was enjoying a vanilla ice cream cone, and to this day I don't think that I've ever met another person who seemed so "in the moment" as he was with that treat. Even though it was just a plain cone, he savored every lick of it as though it was the greatest gourmet dish ever prepared. He would have a lick, then ruminate for a moment before answering a question, and then go back for another pleasurable taste. Even though, no doubt, somewhere in his mind he may have been concurrently pondering the universe's mysteries, while we were standing there it seemed like he was enjoying every moment of that simple cone, with no distractions to interrupt the pleasure. If only we all could find such focus and such simple joy in our daily endeavors!

The skill or behavior Peter was describing, which Dr. Musgrave exhibited so well, is sometimes known as "living consciously." It's something I've written about before in the pages of Flying, and something I think the act of flying a small airplane encourages more than many other activities in our daily life. It describes the attempt to be fully present in every activity we undertake, from washing our hand, to pre-flighting an airplane, to walking down the street.

To be fully present in any given moment requires full attention to the task in hand, and an effort to not just look, but see, feel, and be aware of all the sights, sensations, and events within reach of our senses. Which is to say, it's the antithesis of multi-tasking … which also means it's a skill that is becoming rarer and rarer in the world.

But as the summer flying season, with all its beauty, warmth, landscape scents and gentle breezes begins … it's worth taking a moment to consider Dr. Musgrave's approach to a simple vanilla ice cream cone. On your next flight, make an effort to be that conscious as you pre-flight. Of the feel of the metal latches as you open them, and the distinctive scent of the avgas. The unrolling of the canopy cover. The breeze and shade beneath the wings. The warmth of the summer sun, the energy in that moment of lift-off … the treasure of being alive, and in the air, with all the freedom, sights, and sensation it affords.

And just see, somewhere in the midst of that effort to be fully conscious where you are, and in everything you're doing, if you don't feel just a little bit more alive, and more appreciative of all the gifts that come with that package.

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Skyhawk29's picture

I very well have discovered that feeling, the feeling of being alive and in a most pleasurable moment. During training you are aware of everything...for awhile you are faced with sensory overload...a whole new set of sights and sounds and smells that are an intimate part of this new adventure.

You are aware of your nervousness as you make your first calls to the tower, and then a short time later you are intently concentrating on manipulating the rudder without hitting the toe brakes as you taxi to the run up area.

Finally you are lined up with the runway and advance the throttle. You are wishing for a steering wheel of some sort as your feet follow the instructors subtle moves on the pedals. You announce "rotate" as you pull gently back on the yoke and the world that had been rushing at you at break neck speed begins...to.....slow......down. And drop away. What a glorious feeling! You relax a bit and take a few deep breaths, and then get busy again keeping you eyes moving between the instrument panel and very large world outside.

Although the pace slows a bit and become more routine as you gain experience, there is still that period of "breaking the surly bonds" that never fails to excite and thrill you. These feeling can extend to other areas of our lives as we learn to count our blessings and enjoy the moment, whatever the moment might be. This ability to step outside ourselves to observe our own thoughts and feelings is to me one of the great gifts of life.

finbarsheehy's picture

In younger days I was an active hang glider pilot, and I discovered a related phenomenon. On days when I was "on," there were thermals everywhere and I could fly wherever I wanted, it seemed. But I couldn't rely on it, because as soon as my mind would start to think, the thermals would vanish, and I would soon need to land. It didn't matter whether I started to think about work, or something someone had said to me, or where I was going, or even the flying itself: if I was thinking, I was sinking. As soon as my mind was not in the moment - even if it was only thinking about the moment it would otherwise have been in - I was coming down.

One evening I got off launch very late, and there were no thermals anywhere. The air was still, and it was like flying on rails. Way out in front of me, above our landing field I saw a hang glider doing aerobatics and I thought, "no need to worry about him, he'll be on the ground long before me at that rate." I forgot about him, went back to my search for soaring birds (there were none), flew out and landed - and looked up, to see him still a thousand feet up, still doing aerobatics. After he landed (near sunset), I asked him how that was possible, when I had encountered no lift at all. "Well," he said, "I used to worry about things like that too, and I used to be on the ground looking up at everyone else. And that went on until I realized that I should just stop coming down. So I did." When pressed, he couldn't explain it any better than that. He had learned to fly in the moment, simply flying without conscious thought; but of course, without conscious thought he couldn't explain how it worked.

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