This afternoon I flew an airplane glider, 7000 feet above the Arizona desert. My copilot was Fr. Mike Nagle from Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts. He started skydiving when he was 25, and soon he became a pilot. He’s been flying for longer than I’ve been alive. Whenever he’s out in Arizona, he takes a few days to fly a glider, the plane with no engine.

It’s a thrill to fly with no engine. Part of you is scared to death because you have no power and no parachute. But after ten minutes in the air, you are flying with the birds, safe and happy.

Our first flight was wild. Earlier this year, I signed three waivers to ride a horse up and down a hill. But today they just strapped me into the front seat of a 400 pound plane. I guess they figured if I wrecked, I wouldn’t live long enough to sue them. They roped our plane to a crop-duster, which is a small and power propeller plane.

He towed us up to 8500 feet before we let go of the rope. He faded to the left, and we went right. Without the engine, all you can hear is the wind and the creaking of the plane. I had a panoramic view of the desert and the mountains. I could see hundreds of miles in every direction. It was beautiful.

I felt so privileged to be in the sky. Beneath me were ordinary people doing ordinary things. Normally I am one of them, but today, I was chosen to be up here. Thank you God!

While we were crossing over the Estrella Mountains, I asked Fr. Nagle if I could go to confession. It seemed like the right thing to do. In my 25 years of being a Catholic, I never imagined I’ve never been to confession in an airplane. (Although I imagine it happens often.) I felt closer to God.

Our landing was as exciting as the flight itself.; Less than a foot under my seat is the wheel, which is no bigger than a wheel-barrel wheel. Underneath each wing and the tail was a wheel fit for a scooter. We barreled to the left and quickly dropped 3000 feet. We hit the dirt runway going 75 mph. It felt like I was in a bathtub, getting dragged across the desert at the speed of death. We came to a stop, one wing resting on the ground, and the other pointed up towards the sky. I swung open the glass and gave a shout of victory.

By the third flight, I had been the pilot for a good ten minutes, although not on purpose. Fr. Nagle showed me how to steer, and I did. A few minutes later, he said, “Matt, you’re doing great.” I didn’t know how to tell him that I thought he’d been flying the past five minutes.

Our final fight was the best. We found a strong lift to carry us back up 2000 feet. There are surges of heat from the desert floor that funnel up to the sky. It’s hypnotic to circle around and up closer to heaven.

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On my drive home, I pulled over to explore a junkyard I spotted from the sky. They have 85 rows of classic cars, all preserved in the dry desert heat. I found two ’54 Chevys like my own. I crawled inside to see if I could find anything I could use on my own car. A desert lizard sprinted out of the car and down a broken piece of molding. It was fun to pass by each row, imagining the story behind each car.

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Now I am back here at my house, sitting in my unfinished kitchen. It seems so silly to spend time and money on making a pretty kitchen when I could be soaring through the sky with the birds. Most people are too busy making a pretty nest and forget that we were meant to fly.

It’s only on the ground that you feel mortal.