What's in your logbook?

When I give an inspirational Target Leadership safety keynote to employees of high performing organizations, I often open with the following anecdote.

What's in your logbook?

I started flying at 14 years old, soloed at 16, and on my 17th birthday I walked into the FAA designee's office to obtain my Private Pilots license. Sitting behind the desk was the FAA flight examiner. He would be giving me my check ride. Little did I know he was a fighter pilot from WWII. All I saw was his buzz-cut hair, slate-grey eyes, and a few burn scars on his left hand. As you can see from my pictures, all he saw standing before him was a skinny kid that resembled a mop with a face. 

So there I was. A skinny moppy headed 17 year old kid who possessed the minimum FAA requirements to acquire a Private Pilots license. Scary, right?
- I met the minimum age requirement - 17 years old
- I passed the FAA Private Pilot written exam
- I had just over the minimum 50 hours of total flight (today it's 40) required.
- I had the appropriate amount of cross-country flights.
- I had all the required night time, solo time, and dual instruction time.
Did I have the skill to pass my check ride? I felt it did. However, it was the FAA examiner's job to determine if indeed I had "the right stuff" to be a private pilot.

I remember having a certain air of confidence about me that was almost palpable. 

I plunked my logbook down on the examiner's desk and cockily slid it towards him. It contained a whopping 55 hours of total flight time. I considered my myself an "experienced" aviator.

There is nothing more dangerous than someone who thinks they have experience, but in reality they are clueless.

The reality was, I was clueless. No doubt the WWII "Hellcat" pilot sitting across from me probably logged more time flying airplanes upside down than I had total time logged sitting on toilets! His wisdom definitely sensed my youthful underestimation of what it meant to be a licensed operator of a piece equipment, like an airplane, that can kill you. He'd seen types like me before. 

Key factors in risk tolerance escalation among "those types" is having a sense of thinking we are really good at something, usually because nothing bad has happened - yet. This begets an under appreciation of potential consequences. A sense of well-being or a "nothing can happen me" envelopes the person. 

The room was quiet as I sat across from him. He rested his burned scarred left hand on top of my logbook that I had slid towards him only a few moments ago. In the stillness of his office, he very slowly and deliberately began tapping on the cover of my unopened logbook of "experience." 

The staccato sound ...tap-tap-tap-tap... he made with his disfigured left hand drew my attention to it as if it was a candle flickering in a dark room. Tap-tap-tap-tap... I found out later that this very left hand had nursed the throttle of a burning F6F "Hellcat" engine to stay airborne long enough to bail out over allied territory in 1945!

 He abruptly cleared his throat, snapping me out of my trance. His was staring straight at me with a steely-eyed aviator gaze.  Needless to say, he had my full attention.

 "What is written in this logbook is good for insurance policies," he said softly, almost as if he were speaking at a funeral. He paused for a moment, then his office chair creaked as he leaned forward for maximum effect, "After ten minutes of flying with you," he continued, "I'll know what's in your logbook." 

Although I did not fully grasp the iron in those words, I did get a sense of what he meant. I remember feeling immediately small, humbled. Matter of fact if I had the tallest ladder in the world, it would not have been tall enough for me to reach up to tickle the belly of a worm. 

That statement can be applied to any cockpit of life, personally and professionally. This is what I took away. I learned that I can walk into anyone's office and talk about all the experience I have, or who I think am, or what I do. I can hand you a resume or a logbook that documents all my supposed accomplishments and experience. What really matters is that I shut up and show you. Within about ten minutes, you will figure out exactly what's written in my logbook.

I also have learned to that having humility has helped keep me alive. Experience is inevitable. Learning from it is up to me. Any license I receive, no matter what type, is considered simply as a license to learn.

So, who was the first passenger brave (crazy?) enough to fly with me?

My mom!