I am proud of myself for completing my solo flight. I’ve gained some confidence and believe it might be possible to make it through flight school and earn my “Wings of Gold,” but there is still a long way to go.

The flight school manuals have line drawings of the course flow. I’m pretty sure the Navy commissioned the same talented artist who made the course rules diagram.

The course flow is daunting and shows every event required to complete flight training. After my solo, I have completed 37 of the required events for primary flight training, plus a few bonus events after failing, and I have 74 events remaining. After primary flight training, I will start again with advanced helicopter training, adding another 94 events. Between primary and advanced, I still have about 170 opportunities to fail and never become a pilot.

I think back to when I quit the Academy and remember the dangers of time projection. Whenever I think of how many flights I need to survive, I get overwhelmed. I have to constantly remind myself to only focus on the next brief and the next flight.

In January 2009, Anthony completes flight school, earns his wings, and receives orders to Coast Guard Air Station New Orleans. I am sad to see him go because we have become such great friends, and we balance each other out. He is a perfectionist and always worries about everything, so I force him to go out on the weekends. We go to the beach, drink our favorite “Vegas bombs,” and enjoy our time in Pensacola. He shows me what a professional looks like and makes me a better pilot. He is serious about flying, studies harder than anyone I know, and aims to be the best. I admire him for that. We need each other during flight school, and we will lean on each other for many years to come.

The silver lining to Anthony abandoning me is that Duby is moving in with me. After giving up his chance at flight school for me at the Academy, Duby goes to the Coast Guard Cutter Legare, does a fantastic job as a junior officer, and immediately gets picked up for flight school. I am excited to live with him for the second half of flight school and know that I will need his support because I am still battling constant pressure and fighting to pass every next flight.

I spend hours locked in a simulator learning to fly in the clouds using only instruments. I practice aerobatics and fly loops, barrel rolls, and wingovers. I fly in formation, just a few feet from other students. None of it comes easy, but I continue to study with Matt, watch Rocky’s speech every morning, pace around the landing pattern at the beach, and move forward one event at a time.

I feel like I am still a terrible pilot. I am behind my peers, barely passing every flight, until my last flight.

I am scheduled for my last two flights with a Navy Reservist. He is a prior Navy flight school instructor and now flies full-time for the airlines and part-time in Navy flight school. He exemplifies a professional pilot. He has countless hours. He has seen it all. He makes it very clear that he flies for the Navy for fun, and I am excited that I will get to fly with him.

Our mission for today is a day navigation flight to get dinner somewhere and then a night navigation flight home.

“Plan to terminate with a precise ETA. Students will not use radio NAVAIDS or GPS. Students may only use a chart, visual references, speed, heading, and time.”

Aware that I have had several problems navigating in the past, I have meticulously planned the route and spent hours studying the chart. The brief is smooth, the first flight is straightforward, and we land somewhere in Alabama to have dinner. As we fly home in the dark, I focus intently on not getting lost. I am reviewing every visual checkpoint because I know I just need to pass this flight to complete primary flight training.

As we pass a small civilian airport, he says, “Your navigation is going great, and we have plenty of gas. I could use some pattern work. How do you feel about doing a couple of laps in the pattern?”

I hate it. I hate everything about this idea. All I want to do is land back home and know I will never have to climb into this awful airplane again.

“Sounds great, sir.”

He flies the first patterns as I make the radio calls. I’m anxious because it will be my turn soon. He passes me the controls, and I take a few deep breaths. We do a landing with flaps on the first pattern, and I have no issues. I feel good but only think about how badly I want to finish this flight.

On the following pattern, he asks me to fly a no-flap landing.

“Gear down, landing checklist complete.”

I line up on final and think of Major Galluzzo.

“Aimpoint, airspeed. Aimpoint, airspeed.”

I can do this.

“Gear down and locked.”

Power out. Flare. Look at the horizon.

I float down the runway and touch down so gently that the ground is barely perceptible. I push the power back in and take off.

“George, I have been instructing for a long time, and that was the best no-flap landing I have ever seen from a student. It was perfect. Let’s end on that and go home.”

It is the greatest moment of my life, and I try not to get choked up as I thank him for his feedback.

I did it.

It’s been more than 16 years, and I haven’t landed an airplane since. I still want to end on that landing.