johnmaconline

The evening started on such a high.

Joe was two and a half, and Maddie had just turned one. They were oblivious to the reason for our travel, but they sure were excited about our stop for dinner.

We had just completed the purchase of what would become the focal point of family recreation for the next 20 years — waverunners (the best family recreational purchase we ever made). We left the notary with our new boats in tow and excitement in our hearts.

We had an hour’s ride home, it was early evening, and the kids were hungry.

“You guys wanna stop for some dinner?”

“Yayyyyy!!!”

Why not? We were still abuzz with the high from the big purchase. Nothing puts parents in the mood to indulge their kids like exciting times. And these were definitely exciting times.

Luckily we spotted the oasis just a few minutes down the road — The Old Country Buffet. Barely edible food but ideal for the parents of small, hungry, and soon-to-be cranky children. Plus, and equally important for a novice boat-trailer puller like myself, the parking lot had plenty of open and navigable space.

No waiting. A plethora of bullshit, kid-craving, highly-processed food sludge to choose from. Easy in. Easy out.

This is our place.

We sit down, order the drinks, and within two minutes, we’re taking turns ferrying the kids up to the buffet. Chicken nuggets? Yup. Fries? Of course. Oh, now, ice cream? Sure. In between trips, we’re throwing down whatever it was we considered edible by adults.

We’re just about done, and Chris says, “I’m going up for some desert.” No problem, we’re doing good here. I’ve got this.

And then a sequence of events took place that a “Three’s Company” writer couldn’t have dreamed up.

We often get confused between professional and famous.

When a homeowner hires a pro house painter, she expects that person to show up on time, respect her property, clean up after themself, and finish the work according to the agreed-upon schedule. The painter doesn’t need to be a galleried artist.

When a manager hires a pro software developer, he expects that person to follow the team’s methodology, work to the schedule, respect (but not always agree with) the other team members, and know how to use the tools. The developer doesn’t need to have worked at Google, built their own successful social media app, or have a Ph.D. in computer science.

When a small business owner hires a pro accountant to file the tax return, she expects that person to ask her the right questions, know the applicable tax codes, know how to use the tools, and file on time. The accountant doesn’t need to have graduated from a famous school with a 4.0 in accounting.

We shouldn’t expect all the pros we hire to be famous or credentialed by the famous. But we all know a pro when we see one.

The pro brings a system and knowledge. The pro respects the people, the work, and time. The pro leaves it better than they found it.

You may not be famous or world-class (if such a thing could be measured), but you can certainly be a pro.

Go be a pro. You can’t control famous.

Each of these will serve you when applied correctly. Each of these will destroy you when applied incorrectly.

If you’re debating right and wrong, assume your counterpart is brilliant.
If you’re trying to solve a problem, assume your team is brilliant.
If you’re figuring out how to live together, assume your partner is brilliant.

And,

If you’re building a smartphone app, assume your users are stupid.
If you’re teaching a complex physics problem, assume your students are stupid.
If you’re driving on the belt parkway at rush hour, assume your fellow commuters are stupid.

Each of us is both brilliant and stupid. Success comes when you recognize when.

Live as if God exists.
Live as if you matter.
Live as if you are creative.
Live as if you have free will.
Live as if someone loves you.
Live as if someone depends on you.
Live as if you can make a difference.

On the one hand, it’s all we got.
On the other, it’s absolutely everything.

Visibile.
Looking outward.
Assuming objectivity.
Letting others define.

Rather…

Invisible.
Look inward.
Assume subjectivity.
Define for yourself.

I used to believe every situation had an objective right and a wrong. Our job was to find the right side.
I used to believe there were good guys and bad guys. Our job was to be the good guy.
I used to believe that we found success by walking a linear path built specially for each of us. Our job was to discover it.

Now I believe that rightness and wrongness require context. Our job is to try to understand everyone’s context.
Now I believe that everybody is neither good nor bad, yet both good and bad, and those terms exist across a spectrum with multiple axes. Our job is to lean into empathy.
Now I believe that our path unfolds before us and that success is found in our perspective. Our job is to walk whatever path is before us and to find our perspective.

We waved at Dave as he soared back towards us and yelled down from above, “Thanks!”

To complete the adventure, we had to do our best to get their car to the landing zone, a winding journey about 15 miles away. Since it may run out of gas, I was to take a particular set of roads and just leave it where it quit. That way, if the car wasn’t at the landing zone when they got there, they could backtrack and eventually find it. 

Or I could just take it anywhere. Nothing but my conscience was stopping me. 

I climbed into the beat-up, yellow clunker that may or may not have enough gas, and Chris climbed into the rental car. It started (a good first sign), and I rolled toward the entrance of the mountain road.

Well accustomed to driving a car on fumes, I coasted the stick shift down the mountain as best I could. Once at the bottom, however, I had no choice but to just go for it.

Through the neighborhood, out to the main road, and then around The Point and past the parking lot where this whole adventure began. I babied the accelerator, turned the engine off when stopped, and drove as slowly as possible.

We made it.

I stashed the keys on top of the left front tire, as we agreed upon, and looked up in the sky. 

There they were. Far away and high in the sky. Soaring. Gliding. 

Humans flying.

As Dave circled us, riding higher and higher on the thermal drafts, we could hear him giggling like a schoolgirl. 

Now his buddy was itching to get up there too.

“So…you wanna launch me?”

“Um…hmmm…um…”

“Ha! No problem. It’s not very windy. Can you at least help me get strapped in and over to the platform?”

“Sure!”

Chris and I held the wingtips as he clipped in, and then the three of us walked the awkward contraption over to the platform. After a quick pre-flight check on the cables and mount points, he breathed deeply and kicked off into the nothing. Like Dave, the kite immediately rose into the warm, blue sky, circled back, and he yelled down a big “thank you!” from above.

And then they were off — over the great, green plain below and out towards the blue coast in the distance. Soaring and gliding along the thermal updrafts that took them 100s, if not a thousand feet higher. Then a swoop down only to start the slow, circular rise once more. Rising above the mountain top and then dipping down below. 

We stood and watched for a good 20 minutes. This was real human flight. In that moment, I felt immense gratitude for catching a fleeting glimpse of why they were so hell-bent on getting into the air, no matter the cost. 

I was mesmerized. The feeling was profound. 

And then I saw the car, which yanked me back to reality. Would we make it?

I couldn’t do it.

Ain’t no way I could stand on that tiny platform, with only that thread-bare “safety” strap keeping me from tumbling into the great beyond. 

“Um…dude…umm…”

He could read the room. 

“Hey, no worries. I’ll launch Dave, and you can watch. If you change your mind, you can help me.”

I held one wing tip, and Dave’s buddy held the other as Dave clipped into his glider. The three of us walked Dave and his contraption over to the platform. I helped hold it steady as Dave’s buddy climbed down onto the second level and clipped the strap around him. 

I let go and stepped back. Dave inched towards his friend and the edge of the platform. Dave’s friend stretched forward and grabbed the control arm as Dave put one leg back and squatted slightly. Dave’s fighting the gentle warm breeze to keep the glider still and pointed in the right direction. 

“Pilot ready?”

“Ready!”

“3…2…1…Launch!”

And with that, Dave jumps, and his friend passes the glider over his head.

When a plane takes off, it’s a technological marvel. You know the plane contains people, but you can’t see them. All you see is the aluminum cylinder hurdling down a giant concrete runway 100’s of yards away in a whirlwind of mechanized sound and fury. It leaves the ground and immediately disappears into the distance.

A hang glider launch is a deeply human experience. 

Dave — the person — jumped off the cliff. Not the machine. Dave and his giant kite immediately gained altitude. Never once dropping below the height of our mountain top. But fifty yards out and already 40 or 50 feet above us, Dave circles back towards us and starts yelling.

“Dude, it’s awesome! Get up here!”

Here was a man, and he was flying. Yes, he had a contraption strapped to his back, but it was the man that was flying. Seeing him lazily and soundlessly glide 50 feet directly above and just talking to us was crazy. 

I became overwhelmed. It was truly beautiful.