Stepping out of the cockpit after my first solo flight, I was utterly exhausted - so much so that I had to lean against the plane just to catch my breath.

On a sunny spring afternoon in 2015, I took off and landed by myself for the very first time on Runway 3 at Charlottesville Albemarle Airport.

I started learning to fly at age 19 - just two years after moving halfway across the planet for college, adventure was calling again.

Weeks before my birthday, I chose the last gift my mom would have expected and I told her over a Skype call: a flight training package at a nearby airport.

I remember first time seeing my instructor, Ty, an old man in his 70s who had been flying for fun for decades, pulled up to the ramp in a Jaguar, with a pair of aviator like a real Hollywood movie star.

I remember the distinctive smell of 100LL aviation gasoline - what freedom smells like, and the deafening sound of turbo engines blasting hot air into the cold February of Virginia.

I remember, for the very first time, hopping into a half-century-old Cessna 172 Skyhawk, eyeing it skeptically, “boy I hope these bunch of metals hold up in the sky.”

And of course, I will always remember my first takeoff with Ty.

The excitement when the tower cleared us to taxi, the nerves as the throttle opened wide, and the moment the wheels left the ground - I felt truly alive.

The turbulence was relentless.

With 20-knot gusts tossing us around the cramped cockpit, Ty remained unshaken, methodically explained everything to me while pointing to the instrument panel, working the rudders, and adjusting the yoke, trim, and throttle - all with a calm precision that defied the chaos outside.

And me? I had already surrendered control of the plane, focusing instead on controlling my stomach. Motion sickness hit hard, but somehow, I made it through the entire half hour without throwing up on Ty’s shearling flight jacket.

Later we landed back on Runway 3.

That first flight was anything but pleasant. But it was for the chaotic, disorienting, and overwhelming, I fell in love. I knew I had to come back. I had to become a pilot.

Flying took me to places, and to see the things that I didn’t see before. Few experiences compare to cruising low above the Long Island coastline at sunset or soaring 9,000 feet over the Shenandoah Skyline Drive.

But the journey to becoming a pilot wasn’t easy. The rewards were extraordinary, and so were the challenges. Beyond hundreds of takeoffs and landings, I must learn to plan strategically, communicate effectively, balance power with speed, overcome fear, and embrace risk.

But aren’t those the same skills we need for all of life’s journey?

Soon after earning my pilot’s license, I graduated from college and moved away from Runway 3 - a place I’ve rarely had the chance to visit. Yet, in the years that followed in in New York and Shanghai, I often found myself in similarly chaotic, disorienting, and overwhelming moments. Through life’s ups and downs, I would look back and find calm. When navigating amidst the gusty, I told myself to never leave the pilot seat.

In spring 2021, six years after my first solo flight, I embarked on another adventure: writing. Strangely, it felt like that first takeoff - equal parts excitement, nerves, and life. Since then, I’ve logged over 100,000 words in my journal, another runway that allows me to go to even further places, and to see the things that I wasn’t able to.

I named my journal after “Runway 3” to memorize and to celebrate: the courage to take on challenges from the first place, the highs and lows during those turbulent days, and all the takeoffs and landings that I accomplished and will accomplish again on the Runway 3.