View this post on the web at [link removed]

My first title and subtitle idea for this piece was:
Bird by Bird
Some Instructions on Formation Flying and Life
But then I would have to have written like Anne Lamott, and I don’t need that kind of pressure. Anne Lamott would not recommend putting that kind of pressure on myself. Also, I’m not at all certain that I am in a position to provide instructions on life except that everyone should read at least the first two chapters of Lamott’s book, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life. I have read the second chapter, “Shitty First Drafts” dozens of times. And yet I still backspace and start over several times on every first draft. It may be my only trait that my wife does not find completely endearing.
Punching Up is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
If you are a Christian Nationalist who has stumbled across this post, you should read some of Anne Lamott’s books on faith, like Travelling Mercies, Hallelujah Anyway, and Grace (Eventually). Her Christian witnessing is better than yours. (You will probably never read this, Anne Lamott, but I must confess that I backspaced more than usual in this paragraph to italicize and un-italicize word by word.)
Naval aviation training is constantly humbling, which partly explains why some naval aviators become insufferably cocky. After my first flight as a student naval aviator, the only thing I was certain of was that I would either fail out of the program or crash and kill myself and some unfortunate flight instructor who had too much faith in my ability to control a T-34 Turbo Mentor. The flight instructor would probably leave behind a loyal spouse, an even more loyal golden retriever who would wait at the door for years after the accident, and several adorable children—above average in every way—who were just getting used to Mommy or Daddy being off the deployment cycle and home every night.
I didn’t fail out or die. The airplane began to feel like an extension of my body. I got some confidence. The Marine Corps would probably have no choice but to make me a test pilot and then an astronaut, I thought. Then came Form-1, the first formation flight in the training syllabus. After months of learning to avoid other aircraft, I was now supposed to purposely fly in close proximity to one. I began the flight sure that it would be no biggie for a future astronaut. I ended it once again convinced that I would either fail out of the program or destroy two airplanes and four lives. Instead of a glorious funeral with military honors and a space-shuttle flyover, I would be buried in an unmarked grave somewhere in the vicinity of Verendrye, North Dakota.
Flying is all about focus and making tiny corrections to airspeed, altitude, and heading. When you are one of the following aircraft in a formation flight, your sole focus is the other aircraft. Forget about airspeed, altitude, and heading. Adjustments are based on your position relative to the aircraft ahead of you. In a fixed-wing aircraft like the T-34, you remain slightly below or stepped down from the aircraft you follow in formation. If you screw up while joining or if you need to change sides, you cross under the other aircraft.
Students screw up a lot while trying to join and fly formation on another aircraft. It all feels impossible until it suddenly becomes easy and you are on your way to the Blue Angels and then NASA.
Thanks for reading Punching Up! This post is public so feel free to share it.
So, formation flying is like life or business or government: It works best when you focus on the right things and make small adjustments. Overcorrection or overreaction kill. If you come in smashing things willy-nilly, you’d better have enough parachutes for everyone.
In January, I wrote [ [link removed] ] about the mid-air collision between a commuter jet and an Army helicopter at Reagan National Airport (DCA) and explained how two perfectly good aircrews could have ended up in that situation. Then, on Sunday, two pilots were killed in Hammonton, New Jersey, when their helicopters collided in mid air. It seems they were flying in formation. The specific cause of the mishap is unknown, but it was likely something that created a loss of focus or control. There could have been a mechanical failure or medical emergency. They may have briefly flown into instrument meteorological conditions (IMC) and lost sight of each other. Whatever the cause, the result was disaster, but a pair of mid-air collisions make apt metaphorical bookends for the United States in 2025.
This year, the country flew into a cloud, and now pieces are flying everywhere. No one knows where the next chunk of debris will land. We are stalled and inverted. The pilot-in-command never had the correct focus. Full of unearned confidence, he jerked the controls around and now we will have to make major corrections in order to land safely. Then we will have to make some overdue corrections to reduce the impact of future shitty pilots-in-command. We will have to recognize that what we thought was a polished second draft was really a shitty first draft.
It’s okay. All writing is rewriting, and we have no choice but to start where we are.
Happy New Year! Let’s be focused in 2026. Watch your attitude and let’s get this thing back on altitude and heading.
Punching Up readers can still get 40% off the Ground News unlimited-access Vantage plan (what I have) using my link, groundnews.com/punch [ [link removed] ] or by clicking the button below.

Unsubscribe [link removed]?