Personal Milestone of a "Legacy Pilot"
Chip Bearden
Following is my [slightly edited] social media post today, which I thought might be of interest to this crowd. It's long (surprise!), so if you've read it already, there's no need to do so again. :)
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𝗧𝗼𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗺𝗮𝗿𝗸𝘀 𝗮 𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗻𝗲.
Not my birthday (that was last week). Not a wedding anniversary (and, no, I don’t celebrate the divorce). Not my daughters’ birthday. Not even my 50th run-iversary—that’s still two years away.
Nope. Today is the 60th anniversary of my first flying lesson.
I had just turned 14. 𝘍𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯. As I recount in my book, at that age I couldn’t legally drive a car, drink, vote, or have sex (not that I was imagining any of those things, of course!). But flying a glider? That was perfectly fine with the FAA.
So on June 12, 1965, my father gave me my first instructional flight (in a Schweizer 2-22C, N3909A—yes, it was already a museum piece even then). Those 15 minutes in a drafty, stressful glider cockpit quietly rerouted the trajectory of my existence.
In retrospect, many pivotal moments in my life have come after long struggle and keen anticipation: e.g., my first competitive soaring win, various education and career accomplishments, my first marathon, placing first on a contest day at the U.S. Nationals, qualifying for the Boston Marathon.
But not this one.
There was no build-up. No dream fulfilled. I hadn’t yearned to be a pilot. My father simply asked me if I was interested—and I said yes, without a lot of thought.
Ironically, gliding granted me access to things I didn’t even know I needed: confidence, identity, a sense of worth that didn’t depend on good grades (which, at the time, was about all I had going for me).
It shaped nearly everything: my high school years, college, career, relationships—even my eventual compulsion to run marathons, another life-changing obsession.
Flying both lifted and grounded me—in every sense of those words.
Despite that, when I sat down to write this, I realized I’d never asked myself: 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘐’𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘯?
Would I have found something else that defined me? Something that gave me the same sense of, dare I say, self-actualization? Would anything have molded, wounded, healed, and allowed me to develop as completely? It’s hard to say.
No—it’s impossible.
It’s like asking what your life would be like if you’d grown up in another country. Or in a different body. If you were 6'5" instead of 5'6". A city kid instead of rural. Fluent in German instead of English. A civilian instead of military.
No doubt, like twins separated at birth, the real you and the could-have-been you would bear some resemblance. But you’d still be two entirely different individuals.
Last weekend, I climbed into the cockpit of my sailplane for yet another soaring contest (Region 2N in Wurtsboro, NY). Sixty years on, I’m still flying. Still grateful for what flying has given me—even with the risks and setbacks and unhealthy need to prove myself that I explore in the book.
One photo in my social post shows me at 14 holding a birthday cake—grinning, gawky, clearly 𝘧𝘢𝘳 too young to be trusted with a flying machine.
Another is from the day I soloed, four months later—still too young-looking, but now serious, already evolving in some way, foreshadowing what was to come.
So: no cake today. Just a quiet celebration of a brief moment that changed almost everything.
Is this self-absorbed? Maybe. But milestones invite reflection.
So instead of posting congratulations, I’ll ask you to do something else: 𝙧𝙚𝙛𝙡𝙚𝙘𝙩.
Not on your favorite song in high school, or your first crush, or that one humiliating moment from freshman year.
No, ask yourself this:
𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗺𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗶𝗳 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗽𝗶𝘃𝗼𝘁𝗮𝗹 𝗺𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝗴𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗮 𝗱𝗶𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘆?
Can you trace your life back to a single decision, a hinge point, a yes or no that shaped everything after?
Maybe you answered yes to a question that subtly nudged you onto a new course. Maybe someone close—your sibling, your best friend, your childhood sweetheart—chose a different path. And you watched your lives diverge forever.
Maybe it was a job you took. Or turned down. A move. A partner. A moment you almost missed.
𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧…?
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POSTSCRIPT: I subsequently added a comment to reassure those who may have thought I said soaring was the most important or most meaningful thing in my life. It’s not. The relationships I have with the people I love are.
But that first flying lesson was the most pivotal moment in my young life. That relatively minor blip in my adolescence nudged me onto a different course and set in motion a cascade of events I couldn’t have comprehended, much less predicted. It didn’t just alter what I did. It shaped who I became.
Doubtless soaring means something different to each of us, but I hope it has been a positive factor in your lives, as well.
christopher behm
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Sent: Thursday, June 12, 2025 5:53:40 PM
To: RAS_Prime <rasp...@googlegroups.com>
Subject: [RAS_Prime] Personal Milestone of a "Legacy Pilot"
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