A Window Seat and a Thousand Questions

I was six years old the first time I flew. I still remember the hum of the engines, the way the cabin lights dimmed as we climbed, and the tiny screen showing our altitude. I was glued to the window, asking questions no one around me could answer: How does this thing stay in the air? What's under the wing? Who decides what goes where? That flight didn't just take me somewhere new, it launched a lifelong obsession with systems, trust, and design.

Years later, at Camp EDI (orientation for my master's degree program), I built a physical metaphor for that journey: a 3D-printed plane mounted on a stick with a compass, actuated by a servo motor and LED light. It pointed northwest — toward Northwestern, where I'm now pursuing my master's in Engineering Design and Innovation. That project reminded me how storytelling and symbolism can make even technical work feel personal and purposeful.

Now, as I work toward earning my private pilot license and reflect on my experience in aerospace, I often think about that first flight. Turbulence, both in the air and in life, has become a metaphor I carry with me. It's unpredictable, sometimes uncomfortable, but always a reminder that progress doesn't require perfect conditions. It requires perseverance. That early fascination never faded.