Looking Over the Edge: Two Minutes on the Brink of Life and Death
Have you ever wondered what it would be like to die in a plane crash? Would you remain calmly seated, finding a supernatural sense of serenity amidst the chaos? Or would you be overtaken by hysterics, panicking and screaming to the very end? Last month, I got a glimpse of how it might go.
I was visiting my hometown for the weekend so that I could pay my respects at a dear family friend’s funeral. Afterwards, I spent a couple of days with my family, touring the town I’d left behind two decades ago. I was scheduled to fly back to New York City on Tuesday morning and decided to spend Monday catching up with a couple of friends and my brother in Atlanta before making my return.
My good friend Trevor* has always been an aviation geek. He got his pilot’s license when we were in college, and for as long as I’ve known him, he’s been obsessed with all things aeronautics. Over the past 20 years, we’ve flown together many times in a range of small, private aircraft. I’ve always appreciated how serious and methodical he is when it comes to flying, and he’s always had my full confidence as a capable pilot.
On this day, he was flying up to Gainesville, GA, 40 miles north of Atlanta, to pick me up from the small airfield near my childhood home. My father dropped me off, and after a warm embrace, I took my bags and walked across the tarmac and loaded my things into the back of the four seater Cessna. Trevor had agreed to fly some airplane parts that needed repairs down to Florida and I thought it would be fun to jump in with him for the round trip to give us a few extra hours to spend some time together.
One of my favorite things about flying in small planes is getting to wear my own headset. I like hearing the chatter with air traffic control, the sound of my own voice getting pumped back into my ears, and the scratching static sounds coming in and out. We took off without any issues, and I began to settle in for what should be a pretty routine flight across the rural Georgia landscape that stretched before us.
As we climbed up towards 12k feet, I remember remarking about how peaceful flying was, likening it to the long, aimless motorcycle rides I used to take along the California coast. We caught up on what had been going on in our lives, and the mood was light as we pierced through the clear, Autumn sky. The perspective of the passing world below coupled with the humming engine sounds induced a calming, trancelike state in me. Then, out of nowhere, the engine went silent.
“Fuck!” is something you never want to hear your pilot cry out during a flight. What followed was a series of serious and complicated communications with air traffic control. Amidst various call signs and formalities, I was able to infer from phrases like “total engine failure,” “we need the nearest airport,” and “I’m obviously declaring an emergency” that this was indeed a critical situation.
Helpless, I took a deep breath and looked down into my instantly sweaty hands, which I had begun nervously rubbing together. As my heart began to race, I peered out the window where the previously serene landscape below quickly transformed into what was surely now to be the site of the crash, and the scene of my fiery death.
Resigned to the reality of our impending disaster, my mind flooded with a cascade of thoughts, ranging from profound to absurd:
“You’ve lived a really great life and have done so many amazing things.”
“That stupid fucking airplane selfie you sent someone a few minutes ago will be the last picture ever taken of you and the one they’ll flash all across the internet and at your memorial.”
“Of all the ways to die, I really never thought this would be the way you went.”
“Man, your families and friends are going to have a very hard time with this.”
“Be sure to send a farewell message to the family group chat before you hit the ground.”
While my mind was racing in every imaginable direction, Trevor dutifully pulled out an emergency checklist and started working through every possible option to regain control of the plane. A small airstrip in Madison, GA was five miles away and we were given immediate clearance to make an emergency landing. As Trevor made his way through the checklist, he kept the plane gliding at a descent that would allow us a single attempt to come down safely.
After two perilous minutes and two thousand feet of altitude lost, the engine roared back to life. Our eyes darted towards each other and for the first time during this ordeal, Trevor addressed me with “How you doing over there, Zack?” I was able to eek out a very unconvincing “I’m good!” accompanied by a couple of heavy pats on his shoulder. The remainder of the descent was tense but measured now that we had regained control of the plane. As we touched town and eventually came to a stop, we both let out deep exhales followed by some excitedly relieved sounds.
Taking my first shaky steps back on solid ground affirmed to me that today would not be my day to go. As I walked away from our damaged plane, I was overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude for life itself. Trevor and I reflected on the differences in our two experiences as residual adrenaline surged through both of our bodies. While we lost the engine, Trevor remained locked in on flying the plane and didn’t have the luxury of future tripping his death like I did. Only now could we both step back and realize what a powerful and exhilarating shared experience this had been.
As I laid in bed that night, I went back through the ordeal in great detail, recounting every aspect of the situation as well as my responses throughout. Beyond an exciting story, I wondered if there was something impactful I could take away that might provide a lasting lesson for me. In addition to confirming that yes, being in a plane crash would be absolutely terrifying, there was one major theme that emerged from the ordeal.
For the almost two minutes that I was certain of my approaching death, I had an emotion that landed somewhere at the intersection of shame and regret for any amount of time I’ve spent upset or disappointed at something in my life. Whatever grievances I endured in the past felt entirely trivial at that moment.
Disappointment is a very natural and unavoidable part of the human experience. We all will have countless letdowns, heartbreaks, and setbacks along the way. We learn some of life’s most valuable lessons and develop our character during our most difficult times. I am not advocating for toxic positivity or pretending that everything is always great. But, I can say for certain that when faced with the end of our lives, many of the issues that consume us daily will not matter.
The promotion you got passed over for, the time a friend slighted you, the reason you can’t bring yourself to forgive a loved one, will all seem insignificant when you approach your final breath. The time you spent unable to recover from these unfortunate events, however, can never be regained. All we can control is how we choose to react to everything life throws our way.
I believe that gratitude, not happiness, is the inverse of disappointment. The ability to hold firm and be thankful for your life even when it feels toughest. To cling to hope in the face of despair.
The gift I received from my experience in the plane that day was that I obtained the clarity so many get when approaching death, yet walked away unscathed. For two minutes, my life came into extreme focus and I saw how few things really mattered when I believed I was on the brink of losing it all.
Life, truly, is a gift.
(Dedicated to Dale “D.G.” Jaeger)
*Trevor is a pseudonym
