Pilots don’t forget certain flights. Not because they were dangerous—but because they taught a lesson that never leaves you. For me, one evening flight out of Massachusetts became a turning point in how I think about risk, decision-making, and leadership.
The Setup: A Routine Hop
It was a fall evening, a quick VFR hop I’d made dozens of times. The forecast looked decent: scattered clouds, winds light, visibility 6–7 miles. Nothing dramatic.
But as every pilot knows, forecasts are a best guess. By the time I reached the airport, conditions had shifted. The METAR read:
- Ceiling: 2,500 ft broken
- Visibility: 4 miles, light mist
- Winds: 230° at 12 knots
- Altimeter: 29.92
Not unsafe. Not great. Right on the edge of what felt comfortable.
The Decision Path: Go or No-Go
At the run-up area, I ran through the mental math:
- Plan A: Stick with VFR, climb above the layer, short flight, familiar route.
- Plan B: File IFR and be ready for vectors through the soup.
- Plan C: Stay on the ground, wait it out.
My gut wanted to launch. I had places to be, and the flight looked “doable.” But the discipline of aviation is to not let optimism fly the plane. So I forced myself through a structured risk lens:
- Weather Trend
TAFs suggested continued deterioration. Not catastrophic, but marginal VFR sliding toward IFR. That meant conditions might be worse on arrival. - Pilot Condition
It had been a long day. I wasn’t exhausted, but I wasn’t at peak sharpness either. - Alternates
Were there good divert options en route? Yes—but terrain and airspace complexity would make for tricky descents in low ceilings. - Consequences of Error
If conditions closed in unexpectedly, I’d be in IMC without full preparation. High workload, unnecessary stress, avoidable risk.
The Call
I pulled the throttle back to idle, taxied off the active, and shut down. That night, I didn’t fly.
It wasn’t an emergency. No heroic story. Just a quiet decision in favor of margin. I drove instead.
And yet—I look back at that moment more often than I do at the flights where everything went smoothly.
The Lesson: Managing Risk in Business
That flight taught me something that reshaped how I approach decisions in startups, investing, and real estate:
- Conditions Matter More Than Intentions
Wanting a deal to work doesn’t change the fundamentals. Just like wishing for better weather doesn’t lift a ceiling. - Have a Bias for Optionality
By not launching, I kept all my options open. In business, the same is true: sometimes not acting preserves more future upside than pushing ahead. - Respect Fatigue
Risk compounds when you’re not at your sharpest. Whether it’s a cockpit or a boardroom, your personal condition matters as much as the external data. - Make the Call Early
Once you’re rolling down the runway, options collapse fast. The time to decide is before you commit resources, not after.
How I Apply It Now
In product launches, I ask: Are we taking off into clear air, or marginal conditions we’re rationalizing?
In financings, I ask: Do we have enough alternate runways if this round takes longer than planned?
And always: What’s the cost of waiting compared to the cost of pressing forward?
That single aborted flight didn’t make me more cautious—it made me more disciplined. I still take risks. But I calibrate them with humility, knowing that sometimes the best leadership call is the one that keeps you safely on the ground.
Closing Thought
The stories we celebrate are often about bold takeoffs and daring maneuvers. But in aviation—and in life—the real mark of judgment is knowing when not to go.
Because the riskiest flights aren’t the ones you cancel. They’re the ones you launch into, hoping conditions will magically improve.
Read more interesting stories at https://medium.com/@marcobitran_59728
