Live Dangerously

Flying Over America

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There is a two word phrase from the past two years, on the rise for the last two decades, that I detest with every fiber of my being.

You know what it is. I refuse to write it here. And sometimes I feel that if I hear it uttered even once more, I will scream.

It’s too bad that multiple videos can’t be shared in Substack, because I have a collection of videos taken from various flights in my friend’s Piper Tripacer here in the midwest. Here is one of them.

I offer it in the spirit of the beautiful scenes below, because that’s what it feels like.

I also offer this piece as a tribute to my late friend Chris, in case you missed it, who embodied this type of living.

Refuse to be domesticated.

I’m not being literal. I’m not saying you need to go flying in the tiniest airplanes possible or jumping off Elijah Rock like Chris and I did at Kinzua Reservoir.

But it’s a metaphor. As Chris said to me 25 years ago, “Jump in.”

Live dangerously in your own way, while you still can.

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