Choosing to Fly the C-17: My Journey into Military Aviation (Part 2)

“What do you want to fly?”

In pilot training, this was all anyone (and everyone) wanted to know. Instructors would ask. Family members would ask. Hot dudes at the bar would ask. It was the aviation equivalent of “What’s your sign?” only I didn’t have an obvious (or legitimate) answer.

What I wanted to say—that “I’m just trying to survive this brief and maybe pass my next checkride and honestly my only goal is just to not fail out of the program… I’m stressed and I’m tired and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD JUST LEAVE ME ALONE”——was not a socially acceptable option. So I would either shrug and mumble something like “I’m not 100% sure yet,” or I’d just tell people what they wanted to hear. “F-16s! A-10s! Something fast and shiny and sexy!”

But I knew, deep in my core, that I was not meant for those types of jets. I’m a lover, not a fighter. For context, I’m a vegetarian… Actively pulling a trigger and ending a life would not be on-brand.

The T-6—our initial trainer in pilot training—did a standup job of showing me what types of flying I didn’t like. Oxygen mask? No thank you. Ejection seat? Ew. One-hour flights, aerobatics, sweating my butt off in a G-suit, survival harness, and helmet? Kill me. I learned the hard way that I have the absolute worst body type for pulling Gs (tall, lanky, low blood pressure), and I loathe flying upside down (like… why?!).

Suffice to say, I was miserable at the beginning of flight school. But the beauty of the T-6 was that we got to sample a little bit of every style of flying. And eventually, through the syllabus’s diversity, I found…

“Instruments.”

The skies cleared.

The angels sang.

I heard the hallelujah chorus every time I “stepped” to the aircraft.

All of a sudden, I actually liked flying. I enjoyed the black and white of IFR: the art of preparation and mission planning, the feeling of control and order it gave me in the cockpit. And, unlike the other parts of flight school where I was——metaphorically and literally——holding on for dear life, I did quite well in the instrument phase. I (finally) felt everything click into place.

By figuring out what I didn’t like and what I did like, I was able to see a clear path forward. Realizing I wanted to fly heavies was as much a process of elimination as it was a process of revelation; it was an archaeological dig I managed to excavate during months of primary training.

Throughout the rest of my flight school career, I distilled those likes and dislikes even more thoroughly. When it came time to select our final platforms, the C-17 was indisputably my number one choice. I knew I wanted to travel, and the C-17 is called the “Globemaster” for a reason. I knew I wanted to fly with a crew… I’m a herd animal by nature. And, as a creature-comforts kind of girl, I liked the idea of having a bathroom and an oven and a bed on my plane. But, most importantly, the C-17’s mission sets were diverse, dynamic, and impactful. I wanted to have a tangible role in global events, and I knew that the C-17 would allow me to contribute to U.S. strategic interests on a regular basis.

For me, the decision was a no-brainer. But to the outside world, it seemed questionable. Flying a big chonky cargo plane does not have the same surface-level appeal of a fast, pointy-nosed fighter jet. The mobility community is innately categorized as being a tier or two below combat forces… We’re not as flashy or fast as fighter jets, and we aren’t often viewed as being the “tip of the spear.”

To go heavies was a lesson in ego checking. I had to get over not being at the top of the aviation food chain; I had to be okay with not being viewed as the brightest or the shiniest. I had to accept the fact that people would assume I wasn’t good enough to rate a fighter… That they would assume I was relegated to the cargo community.

But choosing the C-17 was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

In the original Top Gun, Maverick’s commanding officer threatens him by saying, “You screw up just this much, you'll be flying a cargo plane full of rubber dog s*** out of Hong Kong.” But to me, that threat sounds like an absolute dream come true. How cool would it be to fly into Hong Kong?! I bet their air traffic controllers are top-tier. I bet the airport’s amenities are next-level fancy. I bet we would crew rest in a cool hotel downtown and have epic adventures—stories worthy of telling the grandkids one day.

Admittedly, on the surface, flying a cargo plane full of rubber dog s*** sounds less than glamorous. But at a certain point in life, you have to ask yourself, “Am I living for me, or am I simply performing for others?” If your choices make you happy, they don’t have to make sense to anyone else.

Be true to yourself and what you want, and design a life you want to wake up to every day.

Then to hell with what anyone else thinks. Bring on the rubber dog s***.