Speaking of relationships, many thanks go to all my friends and family who’ve supported me in this process. Also, I could not have done it without my writer friends offering encouragement and lending critical eyes to help improve the novel. If you are an emerging writer who is giving due diligence to the craft, you owe it to yourself to find kindred souls on the same journey so you can help each other succeed. We all have blind spots. The key is to find the right people who will point them out in a nurturing manner.

One writer friend said I should do a post on the lessons I learned while writing the novel, insights I could only discover by immersing myself in the process. Sounded like a great idea to me, so look for that topic in the near future.

But for now, back to our regularly scheduled programming . . . . Summer School - Part 3 coming soon.

In July of 1990, I had a bad day. The plan called for heels dug into the hot sands of Athens, Greece accompanied by great friends while I gazed at crystal blue water as far as the eye could see. The reality? I had the water part. I had the friends part. The problem? They were as cranky as I was because crystal blue surrounded us as far as we could see on all sides.

Instead of the port call to Athens, among other popular locales, my buddies and I bobbed in the open ocean, captive on a naval destroyer off the coast of Africa. Civil war had erupted in Liberia and our ship, the fastest in the battle group, diverted in a frantic rush to lend assistance. Goodbye France, goodbye Spain, goodbye Greece.

After two months of continuous steaming in a square mile pattern far enough over the horizon so the only glimpse of the coast entailed the occasional mirage, stir crazy didn’t begin to describe us. There were bright spots.

During summers my mind sparked, ignited because I controlled my education, unfettered by what someone else believed I should learn. Transported by books, bicycles, and blue skies—willing screens I projected a vivid imagination onto—my mind expanded as I chased whatever drew my interest until September closed in. Since those summer days of self-directed exploration, I’ve always considered any learning I’ve accomplished on my own as “summer school,” an educational program driven by someone who had my best interests in mind.

Perhaps you’re like me and felt you didn’t learn the things you really wanted to when you were in school, whether it was high school where classes were chosen for you or college where you acquiesced to parents or bought into society’s urging that the world needed more marketing people. Maybe you feel it’s too late to do anything about it now.

I’m here to tell you it’s never too late, no matter how old you are. You just need to take charge of your own education and enroll yourself into “summer school.”

So check out Rick's new book The Leap and click here to read Follow the Glow on his website.

Everyday we receive lessons. Whether we choose to learn something from them is a different story. I always try to learn something, although I need a remedial course or two on occasion to mine the precious gem of wisdom from the dirt and debris of the situation. But once I discover that gem, I stick it in my pocket as a reminder to make different choices in the future.

There are numerous lessons to share from fumbling through my own school of life, but I thought I’d relay one in particular as it gets a bit of airplay around our house from time to time.

Here’s what happened:

1) Great Books - I can feel the pages now: textured paper brimming with stone-wedged swords, grinning cats, time wrinkles, and precious rings. We dive into black ink, immersed in imagination and hours that flow like minutes, until the real world beckons. Ah, such an irreplaceable experience. True, this could fall into the “free” category if you utilize the public library, but supply doesn’t always meet demand, not to mention how many times I’ve tried to reserve a book only to learn the sole copy is 5 years overdue. Our taxes pay for the library anyway, so not exactly free. And yes, the billionaire may be able to buy that first edition of Oliver Twist, signed by Charles Dickens himself, but do you think he sits in a cozy chair by the fire at night to read it? Absolutely not. If he wants to recapture the magic of the story, he’d probably eyeball the same umpteenth edition we do. Dive into a book.

But passion is not only luminescent; it’s magnetic as well. Passion draws kindred souls to you, even as it tugs you toward them. And when the individual light of passions mix and swirl in their infinite colors, magic emerges.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve watched passion energized gatherings and witnessed how they connect us in the most unlikely places. For you pilots that read this blog, please read to the end to learn how your passions can help others with theirs.

Readers sensed something brewing when I posted “Make the Leap” parts 1 and 2, and although I knew my end goal and held the destination foremost in mind, I was unsure when I'd make the leap and start the journey toward it. But sometimes the destination moves toward us. Recently, I felt a palpable shift in my life, a swirling energy mass gathering beyond the horizon. The clear skies circling me gave no indication anything differed from my normal routine, yet I knew the swirl approached, could feel it in my being. I kept angling my body in its direction with anticipation. I liken it to a summer storm where we can’t see the thunderheads building—they’re too far away or the tree line obscures them from view—but we know it’s coming. A breeze kicks up. The temperature drops five degrees. The leaves on the trees flash their pale green underbellies in rippling waves.

Before you think this energy mass was something ominous, let me say this. Some people don’t like storms, but not me. I get excited. Why?

If you missed "Don't Look Back" on Lessons from the Cockpit, click here for the article on Wisdom a la Carte's website, or here for the newsletter. Enjoy.