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Hey, I want to start tonight’s letter off with homage to Herman Melville, the man who wrote Moby Dick, particularly for the two sentences quoted atop this letter. Some part of me sees its reflection in those words, and in the blackest of gorges in which I’ve dove since encountering them, no matter how dark or disorienting, Melville’s Catskill eagle eventually soars through my head to remind me of that which it symbolizes in myself — that somehow I will find my way into the sunny spaces again — and I do. Largely, it has been particular words, sentences, paragraphs, articles, and books which have allowed me to recognize and cultivate many of the best things I’ve found in my life. Without words, I suspect I would be quite lost. Yet, words are never the actual thing. Words only point to the thing, only describe its texture and shape of the thing in the sort of way the contours of a cup held in hand can describe the emptiness inside it. Words are only the flint, struck. Never the fire itself. But ah! What sparks to gawk and awe at and send out into the darkness of night with these words. It’s always my silent, glowing ember-of-a-hope that one catches flame in you. I haven’t even attempted to write an article for two months now. I’m too damn consumed with learning to fly airplanes. A three hour flight lesson costs about $500. That’s almost as much as 76 days on the Big Island of Hawaii cost me in 2015! My funds are limited, and I’m doing three of these flight lessons each week. This freaks me out at times. I have trouble mustering the singular focus writing requires when I feel I should be working at the bet I’m so heavily placing on earning my wings. Flying is going well, though. On May 12th, in the windiest conditions in which I’ve ever flown an airplane, I decided to go ahead and take my checkride because examiners are hard to come by in this time of the coronavirus, and I had already bailed on the flight portion of the exam on account of afternoon wind the previous week. Over 1.9 hours of sweaty, updraft-filled, gust-ridden flight, I earned my private pilot license. I’m now working on my instrument rating, and soon, theoretically, will be able to fly an airplane without being able to see outside the cockpit. Writing that last sentence, I suppose it’s not so hard to understand why training to become a professional pilot has been so consuming… Lastly for tonight, regarding the death of George Floyd and the protests, riots, looting, and rage that continues to rattle throughout the United States tonight, I’d like to say that I’m largely unqualified to speak on the matter. Instead, I’ve tried to listen a bit. I was moved by Michael Render (a.k.a. “Killer Mike’s”) wholehearted speech at the Atlanta Mayor’s Press Conference two days ago. I think, in this divisive time for our 330 million human clan that is the United States of America, it’s worth most everyone’s ear. Keep cultivating that inner Catskill eagle, Ethan
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