0 to Solo in 67 Days (But Who’s Counting?) - Cabin Attendant to Pilot Pt 1

Date: 12/4/25 Aircraft: C150 Hours: 1.2 Remarks: Taxi, Takeoff, Find way back to the ground without crashing

I’ve spent 31 of my 33 winters in Ohio, born and raised, and back again. The other two were in Vermont and were disappointingly mild. Most of my Ohio winters have been fairly similar: cold, some snow, nothing out of the ordinary. Because if it’s going to be winter, be winter.

However, last winter, we received more snow than in recent memory, and it was significantly colder than I had ever remembered. So I did what every 33-year-old woman would do: I decided it was the perfect time to learn to fly airplanes.

People poke fun at me a bit because the time between when I get an idea to do something and when I do it is extremely short. I never gave learning to fly a serious thought because it involved a lot of things that I don’t take a ton of interest in. I’m not mechanically inclined, I don’t enjoy a science or math class, and I’m bad at being bad at anything, and it shows. But someone else had enough belief and faith in me that I called a local flying club and went for it. Didn’t let myself be paralyzed by analyzing the situation. Because I am smart. And I’m around aviation every day. I do like to do hard things, and frankly, I understand the position being a pilot puts me into working in business aviation.

With two pairs of pants, at least 3 shirts, a hoodie, and my old faithful Sorel boots, I hopped in the 150 on December 4th. And learned how to turn on the airplane. Then learned how to start the engine. And here’s where you put your feet, turn on the lights, look here at the speed and power, there’s your altitude, wings level, your attitude, fuel level, oil pressure, and temp. Got it? Great, let’s go flying.

Then I did exactly what my instructor told me to do. Well, kind of. It’s really hard to say because the entire moment was a blur. If I’m being honest, he didn’t say much that first flight, and I didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. He seemed entirely too comfortable flying around with someone who had .3 hours of flight time under her belt, that .3 being the taxi to the runway end. And for me, I was so green and ignorant that I didn’t have enough capacity to have the right amount of fear. My guess is that he had seen everything a student could have done at this point, so it would be tough to faze him.

Which is ironic to think about now, considering my husband and I fly GA, I’ve spent the last 6 years flying around on jets with countless hours in the jumpseat, and I thought this would all be cake as a result. My high-achieving self (self-proclaimed, that is) would use my natural skills and breeze through this. Yet, I felt more out of place than ever.

As I said, I’m bad at being a beginner. All of the material in ground school was new, but fortunately for me, starting this whole deal in December, there was not much else to do other than watch videos explaining aerodynamics to me as if I was a 5-year-old. And fly. Because it was 15 degrees out most days and no one else was crazy enough except my instructor and me to get in that wispy 150 and beat up the pattern for 2 hours every day. Wake up, go fly, study, go to work, work out, study, rinse and repeat. For 2 months.

Most days were great because early on, anything you do RIGHT is forward progress. You don’t know enough yet to try too hard and think too much about what you’re doing, and the instructor is just trying not to break your spirits before you solo. Because that would be bad manners and money out of their pockets. I get it. Everyone is your cheerleader. They’re proud of you, building you up, telling you how great you’re doing because, unbeknownst to me at the time, they’re just trying to get you to feel confident enough to take off and land the plane on your own. Spoiler alert: the confidence is late to the party, but you do it anyway, landing left of center most times.

There were a few days I thought the solo was coming due to the rare days in January and February when it wasn’t “gusting” 15 and the ceilings were above 1000. On those days, I had really hyped myself up. And by hyped myself up, I meant I didn’t push the power in with shaking hands. But alas, we waited until February 9th at a towered field, our home field, with people in the control tower who knew me watching, taking off 9R (which I never had before), in some drizzle, on a busy Monday with jets coming and going. Yeah - THAT was the day we chose.

To my instructor’s credit, he didn’t pull the “Hey pull over there real quick” and jump out of the airplane without any notice. That is cruel and I will never do that. Instead, I had a spidey sense it was coming and we did a few laps in the pattern at home to shake the rust off. THEN he told me to pull over and hopped out. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but I do remember the fact that he had a walkie-talkie synced to the field radio in case I needed anything and that was funny to me, yet also comforting. Because if something happened and I needed to talk to him, everyone would know I’m melting down versus mushing through it alone. He wouldn’t have sent me out if I wasn’t ready; at least, I hoped not.

I couldn’t believe it was possible but when I was in the left seat alone, the airplane felt even lighter. Like you could blow on it from the right direction and it would topple over. I called ground for taxi clearance and I heard, “Good luck, Lauren!” And wanted to melt into my seat. But alas, off I went into the runup pad. Why did I do that? I literally have no idea other than I didn’t actually know what I was doing. I thought I had to do that, every single time. That’s so funny to me now.

Anyway - looking back, I’m genuinely grateful my home field is towered because I get so much more experience talking on the radio, and that’s turned out to be one of my favorite things to do in the plane. Fast-forward (10 seconds), I’m cleared for takeoff 9R, and I did just that, while also holding my breath. Seriously, I think I set a world record for humans holding their breath because I don’t think I came up for air through 3 takeoffs and landings.

None of my three patterns were the same; this one I was asked to extend my downwind, the next one they called my base, and another they cautioned me for wake turbulence. It was anything other than routine, which, I suppose, is exactly routine in aviation. Dare I say - I did...well? My standards for “well” were pretty much get on the ground, stay on the runway, live to do it again. So yeah - I crushed it. Just left of center.

I taxied back to the ramp to meet my instructor, and he looked at me and goes, “Are you okay?!” ...Should I not be okay? Were things not okay? WAS I NOT OKAY?! His response came because I greeted him with a fully red face (from not breathing) and not a smile, but rather a grimace. Without realizing it I had judged my first solo and 26-hour skills against everyone else in the pattern that day. This will be a common and absurd theme throughout this series.

We proceeded back to the hangar, where I was celebrated so much by my husband and instructor. Then they cut my shirt off, and that was weird. Not entirely off, I should clarify. There’s this thing where after your first solo, they cut a square out of the back of your shirt, and write on it with your name, the runway, airport, and date of your first solo. There’s a whole backstory behind this, and they told it to me, but I don’t remember it. My brain was still catching up to the moment.

And that was it! That was who I got to celebrate with because, an important detail that’s worth mentioning now, is that I was going through this process without telling anyone, not a soul. Not my mom, not my best friend, not my coworkers, not the internet (which would KILL some of you, I’m sure). My instructor and husband were the only two. My rationale was that it would keep me focused and not let others’ opinions interfere with my own experience or confidence. And, also, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t give me a teeeeny bit of an out in case this didn’t pan out the way I thought it would.

So that’s zero to solo in 67 days. Reflecting on all of that, I realized how..not easy it was, but how exciting and encouraging it all was. Everything was an accomplishment to be proud of, a milestone, and when in doubt, lean on ignorance. But from there on out, you “knew better” and it got real.

Date: 2/9/26 Aircraft: C150 Hours: 1.3 Remarks: Taxi, Takeoff, Found a way back to the ground without crashing solo