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Blog 1: Our Philosophy

BLUF (Bottom Line Up Front): We learn best through intense repetition. It is no different in the case of landing an airplane. Our process is safe, efficient, and effective.

A little lesson about what it means to learn how to do something. Procedural memory means to unconsciously know how to do something. Like how we know how to walk and ride bikes-- we just do (actually our entire body knows how).  This is what we want to achieve with taking off and landing, we want to understand what we are doing of course-- but we really want our body and mind to know how to do it. 

Procedural memory can be divided into three phases: cognitive, associative, and autonomous.

The cognitive phase is when a person learns about the steps and factors that make up a new skill. In this phase you are motivated, and ready to learn the process of a take-off and landing. However, your perceptions will be overloading you; you still have to learn to focus on what's really important. You'll be thinking (like in your head--cognitive) while you are flying. This will in-turn result in sloppy performance; the reason is because flying an airplane is happening real-time (having a cognitive model of the task is not enough). While everyone learns at different rates, the only dependable way to learn a skill rapidly is to practice over and over again-- and build 'associations'.

The associative phase is when someone practices a task until it becomes automatic and unconscious. During this phase, the person's body and mind learn to differentiate between important and unimportant stimuli. During this phase you will (paradoxically) increase your performance while decreasing the number of considerations-- but you will be trying new techniques so your performance will be inconsistent. This is the part of learning that I call 'the grind'-- my Dad calls it 'doing the work'. Then, all of a sudden, you know how to land.

The autonomous phase of procedural memory is when a skill can be performed automatically and unconsciously, even when there are distractions. This phase requires the least amount of mental effort. Once you achieve this with all the Part 61 requirements, we send you on your solo.

Most people working towards a Part 61 goal do it too slowly. The reasons are many-- but generally distill down to a lack of finances and/or availability (Yourself, Your instructor, Or the Airplane). Going too slowly is suboptimal and, by definition, inefficient. 

The learner ends up spending far too much time in the cognitive and associative phases. Their 'knowledge' fails to update effectively due to sparse associative phase opportunity. Meanwhile, the cognitive information (mental model) isn't exercised, which leads to erosion of that information. Then, the instructor is forced to remind the learner of information they should already know-- this is frustrating for all involved. Plus, the financial and scheduling burden ironically increases. The student's confidence wavers, and the experience of the lessons end up losing their once exciting and positive vibe. 

Our process sets the conditions for achievement. Achieving initial solo in two weeks is very realistic when you commit to it. 

Blog 2: Medusa In the Sky: Why Pilots Must Train for Startle, Surprise, and Freeze

Over the past couple of years, while working on my master’s degree, I’ve had the chance to dive deep into topics that stretch far beyond the flight deck. Aviation history, human factors, regulatory evolution, accident case studies, ethics, and organizational cultural theory — it’s been a wide-ranging, eye-opening journey. Many of these topics fascinated me as a pilot and as someone who’s just genuinely curious. But one concept stood out more than any other: the phenomenon of startle, surprise, and freeze.

I kept coming back to it. I’m not entirely sure why it gripped me the way it did — maybe it’s tied to that old idea: you don’t know what kind of soldier you’ll be until the bullets are flying. Or maybe it’s because I’ve been in the cockpit long enough to know that even experienced aircrew can react unpredictably when something truly abnormal happens.

As I dug deeper, I found something surprising — in much of aviation training, these human reactions are barely mentioned, if at all. Yet the research is clear: unprepared pilots are vulnerable to freezing, reacting inappropriately, or taking no action at all. In fact, studies show that 10–15% of people manifest pathological behavior when confronted with a life-threatening event. That’s not a rare edge case — that’s something every cockpit crew should be thinking about.

Take Colgan Air Flight 3407 as an example. The aircraft picked up ice enroute, but the moment that triggered the tragic crash was the unexpected activation of the stick shaker. The captain, surprised, pulled back — a reaction that went against training and ultimately sealed the fate of everyone onboard. This kind of inappropriate action, driven by startle, surprise, or freeze, shows up again and again in accident reports.

So why aren’t we talking about it more?

Aviation is built on precision — of checklists, procedures, and trust in both machine and crew. But what happens in the rare, terrifying moment when a pilot faces something completely unexpected? What if the body freezes, the brain floods, and training seems to vanish?

The problem isn’t just the reactions — it’s that we don’t train for them. Most syllabi focus on how to fly the aircraft and handle known emergencies. But very few discuss how the brain responds to true novelty and terror. And when these psychological breakdowns go unaddressed, pilots remain unaware of their own vulnerability.

Startle is fast and reflexive — like closing your eyes and ducking to avoid a falling object. Surprise is slower and cognitive, with emotional effects — it's that moment of confusion when the frame of understanding collapses... you turn a corner while walking on a sidewalk and there is a bear! And freeze is when the entire system locks up. These aren’t just dramatic words; they’re distinct neurological events that can sabotage even well-trained pilots.

The good news? There are solutions.

Tools like MATL (Maintain aircraft control, Analyze the situation, Take the proper action, and Land as soon as conditions permit) and COOL (Calm down, Observe, Outline, Lead) are simple mnemonics that help break through the fog of an emergency and give the mind something to grab onto. Military instructors often require students to recite these under stress, because the act of saying them forces a cognitive reset — a way to step out of shock and back into action.

Even more than that, exposure matters. Scenario-based training, high-fidelity sims, and even aerobatic upset training can inoculate the brain against surprise. The science backs this up — repeated exposure builds neural pathways that override the freeze response. We can train for this. We just have to start.

That’s what this project is all about. I created a shareable blog post (this one), a printable handout (below), and a narrated YouTube presentation — all aimed at making these ideas accessible to student pilots, instructors, and flight safety professionals.

And here’s one more thing I’ve learned:

The antidote to fear isn’t just skill — it’s also faith.

When a person believes in something bigger than themselves — whether that’s God, their crew, or their calling — they have a psychological anchor in the storm. In my own case, biblical truths have helped frame terrifying moments in a way that made action possible. I believe this matters. Because while we may not eliminate the initial shock of an emergency, we can build the inner scaffolding to respond with resilience instead of paralysis.

This isn’t about fear. It’s about preparation. It’s about acknowledging that Medusa is real — and that she shows up in cockpits, firefights, hospital trauma rooms, and anywhere else we’re asked to act under pressure.

But we don’t have to turn to stone.

We can prepare. We can train. We can reframe.

And when the moment comes — we can act.