One of the first things they drill into you in flight training sounds simple until you need it: trust your instruments.
I don't have my instrument rating, which is the license that lets a pilot fly in clouds and fog. But every instructor I had still hammered the same lesson. Your body will tell you things about what the airplane is doing. Sometimes it'll tell you you're in a dive. Sometimes it'll tell you you're way too slow. Your job isn't to go with those feelings. Your job is to look at the instruments and verify what's actually happening.
I found out why one evening on a flight to Fairhope, Alabama, just across the bay from Mobile.
It had been a long flight, and I was ready to see Mobile Bay. At night it's hard to miss. It's a big black void with city lights running down both sides. I figured I'd start seeing it 15 or 20 miles out, and that would be my cue to start down. I was still about 45 miles away.
Then, out of nowhere, I could see lights to my left and right and nothing but black straight ahead.
My first thought was that I was already looking at the bay. That meant I was way too high to land and my GPS must have frozen several miles back. While I was trying to make sense of that, my strobe lights suddenly got alarmingly bright. Then it all clicked. The black void in front of me wasn't Mobile Bay. It was a cloud, and I was in it.
If you've never experienced it, it's hard to describe how fast your senses turn on you. One second you can see for miles. The next, the only thing you can see is cloud rushing past a few feet from the windows. Everything in me said we were going really fast and in a steep descent.
Before overreacting, even though my stomach was in knots, I checked my instruments. Airspeed: 120 knots. Vertical speed: zero, no descent. Attitude indicator: level. Heading: 270, right on course.
My feelings were telling me one story. The facts were telling me another, and the facts said we were flying safely.
That's what makes a moment like that so dangerous. If I'd trusted what I felt, that we were nose down and going way too fast, the natural reaction would have been to pull back on the yoke to slow down. That's exactly how you stall an airplane. In a cloud, it's usually the overcorrection that gets pilots in trouble.
So I held it steady. A few minutes later (that felt a lot longer) I popped out the other side, and sure enough, there was Mobile Bay off in the distance, right where it was supposed to be. I made a nice, steady descent into Fairhope.
As far as I can tell, it was the only cloud in the sky that evening. And I found it.
I've thought about that flight a lot since, because I don't think pilots are the only ones who fly into clouds.
Our feelings are a gift. I believe God wired them into us for a reason. They let us know when something might be wrong, the same way a warning light does in a cockpit. But a warning light isn't the pilot. Feelings make a great alarm and a poor guide, especially in seasons when we can't see very far in front of us.
Maybe it's a hard week at work, and it feels like everything is falling apart. Maybe it's a tense stretch in your marriage, and it feels like the two of you are drifting. Maybe your kid is going through something and you feel like you're failing as a parent. Those feelings are real. They're just not always accurate.
So what do you actually check? The instruments I scanned that night translate better than I expected.
Airspeed. Am I really moving too fast, or does it just feel that way because everything is right on top of me? Sometimes the honest answer is that things are fine and I'm just tired.
Vertical speed. Is this actually trending down, or am I reacting to one bad day? One slow week isn't a slow year. One argument isn't a failing marriage. Look at the trend, not the moment.
Attitude. Am I level? It's amazing how much worse everything looks when I'm short on sleep, skipped a meal, or haven't spent any quiet time with God in a while.
Heading. Am I still pointed where I decided to go? If my values and commitments haven't changed, a cloud doesn't mean I need to turn around.
Maybe the most practical lesson from that night is this: don't make big moves inside the cloud. Pilots are taught to keep their inputs small and steady until they can see again. That's good advice for the rest of us too. The worst decisions I've seen people make, and I've made my share, are the ones made in a hurry while everything feels like it's spinning. The resignation email. The sharp text. The panicked financial move. The "we're done" conversation.
Hold it level. Fly the facts. Wait until you're out.
Clouds don't last forever. Most of the time, the thing you were waiting to see is still right where it was supposed to be. You just couldn't see it for a few minutes.
So let me leave you with a question:
What feeling are you treating like a fact right now?
Rusty is the founder of The Master's Lawn & Pest and writes Rusty's Corner to share real-life lessons from leadership, the wins, the struggles, and the growth in between. If we can help with your landscape or pest control, call or text our office at (352) 378-5296, or fill out our online form.