Adventure Prep, Favorites, The Great Adventure

What Does Launching Your Dream Feel Like?

Nothing works the way it should.

I’ve got hoses taken from helium pumps standing in as fuel lines. The chief told me the fuel will corrode right through them. I told him I’ll land before then. He didn’t say anything.

All day long I’ve got people coming in here, asking me questions. I like that, it’s a good sign. Means I’m not as crazy as they say. Still, sometimes I wish they would just give me some space. It’s always the same questions, and I still have to figure out why the rudder is sticking before I can get some sleep.

Sleep is hard to come by. One, two, three in the morning… sure I’m exhausted, but there’s too much to do. I’ve given up on caffeine altogether. I run this show on pure, nervous adrenaline.

Mornings are the hardest. The hangar used to be an observation deck, and the big windows are still there. Coming down the stairs I see this view of what’s under us, thirty thousand feet of nothing and a damn hard landing at the end. Once I launch, those thirty thousand feet are all I have to make this bird fly.

Or find out the bad way that everyone was right.

“You’ve never built a plane before,” one fellow reminded me.

“That’s right.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

“As best I can, sir.”

“Well it’s a long drop.”

“That’s what I’m counting on.”


Another lady asked me why I don’t just stay on the airship like everybody else. She had her little kid with her.

“I can’t tell you,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Because your daughter’d want to come with me. Then you’d be upset.”

There’s nothing wrong with living on an airship, I guess. All your needs are met, more or less. They feed you as long as you do your job. You get to know everybody and that’s a nice feeling. Seeing the kids play makes me smile.

But sometimes I see them looking out the window.

“What’s down there?” they always ask.

“Monsters, bandits, savages,” come the answers. I don’t think they really know.

But the kids want to know, and so do I. And at some point all the made-up stories just stop doing it. Didn’t we used to walk on the ground? I asked. Sure, but it was dangerous, they told me. Yeah well I think I can handle a little danger.

But this—this? They’re right, I’ve never built a plane before. I don’t know anyone who has. I had to learn from books and scavenge parts and cobble things together. In two days we open the bay door, I do the last systems check, the engines kick on and I have to pull that lever.

That godsdamned red lever.

When I pull it, the hook on top of the wings detaches. The bird falls through the bay door, out of the hangar, and into freefall. I have thirty thousand feet to pull her out of nosedive. Thirty thousand feet for something to go wrong. Thirty thousand feet to prove I know how to fly.

But only if I pull the lever. Never been more scared of something in my life. It’s a one-way, irreversible act. Pull lever, drop. No do-overs. Like any other slot machine.

What if you pull it and you die? Worse: what if you don’t pull it? Ha, I guess I’d live a long time.

These are the thoughts that go through my head every day while I work. Grinding, welding, riveting, smoothing – a plane takes a lot of work. That means a lot of time to be alone in your head with those thoughts. Sometimes I don’t even notice when someone comes in.

Like the day Lex stopped by.

I was testing the engines for the eighth time. They ran but I didn’t like the sound of them. The propellers roared and came up to speed. Eleven hundred revs and this time it was a nice smooth hum. Okay. Okay. I sat in the cockpit and stared out the hangar windows.

“DREW!” The shout was so close I almost leapt out of my seat. I turned to see Lex on the ladder, wearing suspenders.

“WHAT?” I had to yell to be heard over the props.


I looked back at the lever. “Yeah. YEAH.”






I waved for her to get in. I cut the engines.

“You ever flown a plane before?”

“No, but I’ve read about it.”

“Welcome aboard.”

On August 31 I pull the lever and launch the Great Adventure. A lot of people ask me what it feels like. This story is my answer.

If it made you smile, tweet it and share it. 


13 thoughts on “What Does Launching Your Dream Feel Like?

  1. Nicki says:

    Although I presume you have enough “itchiness” in you to propel you as far forward as you can go, in the times when the I DON’T KNOW WHAT THIS HOLDS IN STORE FOR ME starts creeping up on you, imagine being in your 4 bedroom house, with a marriage partner whom you love but is far more grounded than you are (which has it’s perks i have to admit), 4 offspring, with 5 other families who count on you 5/7 days of the week so much that they wish for you to go NOWHERE. This means there are multiple other children surrounding you daily (3 of them are 1 and under). While you love this, it makes you ITCHY TO GO, GO, GO. GO! GO! GO! until you sometimes cry from it, and you are so thankful for the moments when you actually feel content with giving yourself away to your own 4 children plus the others you are “raising” in your loving heart and home. Can you feel that? RUN, DREW CAREY! RUN!!!!!!!! RUN!!!!!!!! RUN!!!!!!! Some of us whose dreams take a little longer to make happen are living through your lack of commitments to others and the glorious freedom and ability to GET UP AND GO! RUNNNNNNN!!! :)
    And perhaps as you are TAKING A HIKE you should keep working on that little piece you have going up there. Yet another book will almost write itself for you! And perhaps help fund your fun? Anyway, carry on!

    • Wow Nicki, thank you. I will actually try to picture that… to picture you and anyone else who has to wait, wait, wait instead of go, go go to their dream.

      I have to say something about commitments to others. 3 years ago had a wife, over half a million dollars in mortgage debt, 7 students who relied on me every week, and a temple community of more than 40 individuals who counted on me as their priest. It was not easy to decide to leave Minneapolis. I wasn’t commitment-free and couldn’t just pick up and go… it took years of work, and recovery from a horribly broken ankle, to be able to do what I’m doing. I’m just saying this so you know I’ve been there, and the waiting and the commitments and the stress – I understand where you’re coming from. Maybe not perfectly (having a half-dozen kids run around is probably harder than a couple dozen adults) but I feel you.

      Thanks for the reminder… and a second call to write a whole book about this! Wow. I better get started on this fiction stuff.

  2. Lorri says:

    I know that you’re of an Irish bent but I think the Norse rune Raitho is appropriate and I have sung it for you. As for your god, may Lugh bless the path before you so that you walk in divine light. And remember, when in doubt, follow your nose!

    • My nose, huh? Okay… I’ll try it Lorri! Thank you so much, by the way, for singing this for me. It is a wonderful thing to do. By the way, a google search has shown me what the rune looks like, but hasn’t given me any songs/prayers that go with it – would you mind sharing the text of what you sang? Maybe it’s something I should learn!

  3. Nice job, Drew. The fiction is more meaningful given that it is clearly NOT fiction – not really. Everyone who’s been following this blog knows what the real story is, we get the inside joke as it were. Fantastic.

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