How to Build an Airplane in Your Living Room (Revised)

(The following is an excerpt from my upcoming book under the same title)

At the break of dawn one December day in 1986, my father, Dick Rutan, climbed into an airplane he built with his own two hands to do something many saw as impossible. He was about to break a world record, to be the first to fly around the globe without stopping. But, sitting in the cockpit of his unstable homebuilt airplane, Dad noticed that the feeling of fear was overtaking his confidence. He knew there was a real possibility he wouldn't survive the takeoff and couldn't shake the image of a fireball at the end of the runway.

Between reviewing the final checklists and trying to hear the radio transmissions over the roar of the engines, Dad had a small moment of silence to wonder how he got to this specific time in his life. If he survives the takeoff and the forecasted weather, he has about a nine-day confinement in what would resemble a tiny tandem two-seat sports car ahead of him. But, of course, if he doesn't run out of fuel first.  

Dad was about to fly around the world without stopping or refueling in a one-of-a-kind airplane named the Voyager. To circumnavigate the global is something many before him have failed to achieve. But, he is a proven adventurer from a lifetime of risk-taking. So, running out of challenges, he decided to "pick that last plum off the tree of aviation," and like all his other record attempts, Dad went for it with his whole heart.  

I grew up in a family of nonconformists. Backward-looking homebuilt airplanes and plans to travel to space were as typical in my family as watching sports were to others. However, these were not just casual conversations around the dinner table. A spaceship in every garage was the action plan, not just a daydream. And it all started with the Voyager. To them, there was no outside world other than experimental aerospace.  

That historic December morning, while Dad was starting his takeoff roll at one end of the extra-long runway, which ran down the edge of a vast dry lake bed, I stood at the other end of the runway with my Grandfather. While thousands of people lined the distant hills surrounding that lake bed, relying only on binoculars in the hopes of catching a glimpse of history, I stood up front living it. Then, as the long-awaited touch of warmth provided by the sun peeked over the horizon, we stood with our focus on the outstretched runway waiting for Dad.

I was sixteen years old and never once thought my father was risking his life. He had successfully broken many records in the past, so this seemed more routine in my teenage mind than dangerous. My Grandfather, a six-foot-tall man with a gentle smile, added to my carefree demeanor that morning. Everyone called him "Pop," and I felt comfort standing there with him. 

Then suddenly, out of the cold morning air, the sunlight reflecting off Voyager's long wings provided our first glimpse of dad heading our way. The squint fell from our eyes as the airplane came into view. We watched as the oddly shaped outline of the plane grew more extensive the closer it came. Then Pop motioned to me, holding his hand about four feet off the ground, and said, "Voyager should be about this high when it passes." Then what seemed like hours turned into seconds as Voyager zoomed past. But unfortunately, Voyager's wheels were still firmly on the runway. Something was wrong. 

Moments before, Dad chose confidence over fear and pushed up the throttles, causing the plane to head down the runway. The next step was to gain enough airspeed before pulling back on the stick to take off. But the airspeed didn't appear. "Abort, abort, abort," the mission crew yelled to Dad over the radio. They knew he was losing precious runway and needed to stop, but Dad only focused on the airspeed. 

He wasn't about to give up on a dream that so many donated time and money to help support. It was the main focus of his life for the last ten years, and something as small as running out of runway wasn't going to put an end to it. He built that plan and knew every inch of it. He followed his instincts, knowing what Voyager was capable of, and pushed on for a bit longer. Then bingo, that magic airspeed number appeared. With that, he pulled back the stick in a way that no one other than a self-proclaimed golden-armed fighter pilot could with such grace and accuracy. The Voyager slowly lifted its long fragile wings and started its journey into the great unknown. 

​With joy waving my hands while jumping up and down, I yelled, "Godspeed." I still had no clue that I was likely moments away from seeing what Dad feared. When Pop told me the plane should be about four feet off the ground at that specific time, he knew Dad only had so much runway for a safe takeoff. When Pop saw no sunlight between Voyager's wheels and the runway, his thoughts went from excitement to dread. He realized he was about to have a front-row seat to a fiery crash. Not only that, he had invited his granddaughter to watch it. Now I know why Pop let out such a sigh after Dad finally took off. 

Voyager is now a part of the Smithsonian Air and Space collection after successfully flying around the world non-stop, non-refueled. The complications during takeoff were only the beginning of the obstacles that followed during those next nine days. Dad likes to say that "adventure is the essence of life," and he proved that with Voyager. After landing with his co-pilot Jeana Yeager, the two became international heroes with the perks and hardships of fame.

Overnight I went from an anonymous high school student to a girl with a famous dad. So naturally, I tagged along as the world wanted to meet their newest superstars. The months that followed the flight included press tours, celebrity appearances, and invites to mingle amongst the highest levels of society.

Being famous was never Dad's end goal. He didn't put any thought into the monuments after climbing out of the cockpit. I'm not sure he ever thought he would. When life's momentum turns from push to pull, it takes time to adjust. Dad went from nine days of constant danger, flying over hostile countries in an airplane that could break apart in a strong wind, to having a New York stylist dress him up in the latest fashions. 

I sat in the corner of a high-rise Manhattan hotel observing this transformation from a rugged adventurer to an uncomfortable man in a belted overcoat. Dad spent the last ten years begging for money, getting doors slammed in his face, and working round the clock to build an airplane. Now he stands surrounded by people who were much more dangerous than anything he faced during the flight, and "she's his daughter" became the phrase most associated with me. 

I blended mainly into the background but on occasion, people mistakenly asked me for my autograph. Finally, a Cinderella moment helped me feel more than just "his daughter." Unfortunately, the moment passed when a confused look came from the person holding the autograph book. The name expected was not Jill Rutan. I can't tell you how many autographed books out there have Jeana Yeager's signature accompanied by my crossed-out name. I guess, at sixteen, I still needed to earn that signature request. 

"You are only limited by what you can dream" and "It is darker than the inside of a cow" are two of my father's favorite sayings. Quietly lying over the vast Indian Ocean on a moonless night proves he understands darkness, and, as far as making dreams a reality, he has a pretty good track record with that too. Having a dream is one of life's greatest gifts. Dad knew he wanted to be a pilot from the second his mother raced down an old country road with his balsa wood model airplane strapped to the car's roof, creating a homemade wind tunnel. 

The shared dream of teenagers everywhere is a New York modeling contract, and one landed in my lap when I was observing life from the corner of a big city hotel room. So after this latest press tour ended, I stayed behind in Manhattan to start my new life. My mother was furious! She never forgave my father for leaving a sixteen-year-old girl alone in a big city. I didn't agree at the time, but she was so right. I was utterly unprepared. Photoshoots to late-night photo critiques had me walking alone back to my now basement motel room late at night. I had no money. My days of limos and hired drivers were over, and now "Dick's daughter" had to make it independently. I'm relieved my past self never accepted a ride from those random men offering me a lift. Thankfully the universe presented me with an offer of a blind date, and my modeling days would soon come to an end. 

Back in California, my mother was setting the whole thing up. This time I was furious! Home from Air Force pilot training, my blind date Lars saw my picture and asked if we could meet. Now at eighteen, with the motto "I'm never getting married," I reluctantly accepted his invitation. The scheduled date arrived on the evening of New Year's Day. Thinking I would get this dinner over quickly, I answered the knock at the door. With one look at Lars, I knew I was getting married. Not in an I-have-to-marry-him way but a glimpse into the future. I saw us growing old together.

If Lars had known this, it could have taken the pressure off. Instead, he was so nervous not to mess things up that he talked non-stop. So much that I couldn't get a word in to let him know we were about to miss our movie. I did get a chance to ask him one question, "who was the second man on the moon?" Not missing a step, Lars correctly answered, "Buzz Aldrin." I expected to trip him up—most people know the first person to do anything, but the second few commit to memory. His answer impressed me. That question led to many future conversations, often resulting in us being the only two customers left in the restaurant well past closing time. 

To this day, our daughters wonder what we could still be talking about after 30 years of marriage. What instantly attracted Lars and me together was our ability to discuss our dreams. Lars' thoughts took him beyond the clouds into the stars. He had wanted to be an astronaut and focused all his attention on space. However, my interests were more vast, and I wanted to try everything. This combination of space nut and wanna-be adventurer made an exciting childhood for our children, frequently held in a captive audience.

A little less than two years after that first date, that eighteen-year-old me who preached she would never get married said, "I do." Another historic around the world journey started in a tiny military chapel just a mile from where Dad and Jeana laned after their historic flight. Edwards Air Force base is known for its firsts. It is where Chuck Yeager became the first person to fly faster than the speed of sound, where stealthy fighter jets first proved invisible flight is possible, and now where I became an Air Force wife. 

Before my giant leap into wedded bliss, I had the opportunity to attend the 1988 Miss Universe pageant in the beautiful city of Taipei, Taiwan. Dad and Jeana were celebrity judges with other notables like fashion designer Mario Valentino, professional hockey player Ron Greschner and music producer Emilio Estefan. Dad had me turn around on the flight over and look at the people sitting in coach from my first-class seat. He said, "If you ever get married, you will be sitting back there." He was right! I soon found myself with a ring on my finger, sitting in coach, heading to Okinawa, Japan. The small island between Taiwan and Japan in the East China Sea became our first assignment. Okinawa wasn't Lars' dream pick, but it did help us start our own lives away from family and put Lars closer to his true passion of space. 

I spent the next twenty-six years coloring with every crayon in the box of life, trying to find my one true dream to pursue. I went from a financial counselor in Okinawa, Japan, to a water aerobics instructor in Melbourne, Florida. I became a docent in Dayton, Ohio, attended culinary school in Washington DC, and worked as a head chef in South Korea. In between, I had two beautiful daughters, started two companies, and wrote two books. I tried to explore something different with each of our thirteen new assignments. Yet, curiously, I felt those familiar feelings of modeling in New York during it all. While I enjoyed learning something new, I never truly felt grounded, as if I was still toppling around on those stiletto heels in tight-fitting clothes. Other than hanging out with my family, everything else felt off. 

Dad had a gift to know his exact purpose in life. Everything he did took him one step closer to becoming a pilot. But, for the rest of us, defining a dream can be as hard as finding a dropped ring on a beach. You know it's there, but you have to dig through a lot of what it is not to find it. So I guess, looking back, all my different identities and pursuits were me digging through sand. 

When it was time for Lars and my oldest daughter, Noelle, to head off to college, her Gpa Dick took that opportunity to write his wisdom regarding the great dream search. In a letter, he wrote the following.

Dear Grown-Up Girl,

​    Well, this should be a big transition for you off alone to a new town and friends. The real-life adventure begins. Attached is a little something of value that might help with your college. 

​But being a "gray beard" G-Paw of a distant past generation, I wondered what thing of value I could give you at this special transition time for you. Looking back on life, I found that most people underestimate what they are actually capable of ... they just don't dream or challenge themselves enough or find the courage to make it happen. Sadly they find out way too late to do anything about it, and their life opportunity is gone. 

​Here is what I found, first find an exciting goal—something you like and are good at doing. There is a lot of competition out there, and success does not come easy, and a bunch of hard work is required. Talent and interest help achieve the goal. It must be fun, something to wake up for each day and can't wait to get at. Remember, the more challenging the climb, the better the view. 

​Once the goal has been determined, the secret to success is how you "manage the motivation." I wanted to be a fighter pilot and fly high at the pointy end of that contrail. Every time I would slack off on homework or whatever, my mom would remind me of my goal and how great it would feel to be on that pointy end. She managed the motivation. The Voyager was a long, tough road to success, but every time I thought of quitting or giving up, I would find a quiet place to close my eyes and try to imagine what it would feel like to land at Edwards AFB roll to a stop having accomplished the world's last first. In my imagination, that felt pretty good. So I would get up and press on. Manage the motivation.

​One last thing, and it is the most important, and how you manage it is the key to lifetime success. Metaphorically every human born on this planet is issued a can (sized about five gal), and in the can are two words that begin with the letter "F." How you manage the two "F" words is vital as to what you can accomplish. The two words are "freedom" and "flexibility." People often empty the can early in life with failed relationships, debt, and unwanted responsibilities. 

Many fantastic opportunities present themselves in life, and the can must be full enough to take advantage. Being a free spirit is life rewarding, and the reward yardstick is not how much money you have but how much self-esteem you possess. Don't ever let anyone else determine your self-esteem. You are going to be faced with many decisions almost every day. Each time you do, decide how much of those precious "F" words you may give up, for how long, and how easy it is to get them back. It's okay to invest them for a greater return later. Like I gave up almost all and emptied the can as I entered Aviation Cadets as a pled underclassman. The investment paid off in spades when I got to ride on the pointy end of that contrail. 

​I tell young people to question everything and don't ever accept limitations or barriers. Look at them not as something to abide by but as targets of opportunity for greatness. What you can accomplish is far more than what anyone now can even imagine. When I was getting out of high school, no one on the planet earth could even remotely conceive of a TransGlobal flight unrefueled!

​LIFE IS AN ADVENTURE, AND WHAT YOU CAN ACCOMPLISH IS LIMITED BY WHAT YOU CAN DREAM.

​Stay in touch, send many pictures, and always have the guts to try.

​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​Your proud G-Paw Dick

​Like the wise old buck to the young deer, Dad sent Noelle off into the unknown with a lifetime's worth of wisdom. 

Dad's pursuit of becoming a pilot had an interesting effect on my childhood. Like my children, I arrived in this world as a military brat. Dad was stationed in Lakenheath, England, at the time and still shares a story of the day I was born. After a long, eventful day, he and mom spent the night in the hospital. She was birthing her second daughter, me, and he was recovering after a situation that involved an F-100 jet fighter, an ejection seat, and a parachute. Once again, like the airplane in the living room, a very ordinary tale from my childhood. 

Unfortunately, I don't remember much from England or our following assignment to Dayton, Ohio. I do, however, remember our house in Tucson, Arizona, where I spent most of my time in the backyard. It had a small bean-shaped pool accompanied by two large mesquite trees, and it was the perfect place for my young imagination to practice dreaming big. From one day to the next, I, with my tiny bicycle, tracked and captured international villains, created the world's best mud pies, and built imaginary tree forts capable of receiving signals from space. I could also shapeshift into a mermaid. 

What I didn't know is inside our modest four-bedroom home, my parents were about to go through an ugly divorce that would eventually have Dad leaving the military and stretch out for many years to come. The months that followed took my sister and me from our suburban neighborhood, complete with dance and swim lessons, to the desolate town of Mojave, California, where Dad went to work flying airplanes for his brother Burt.

I hit the sweet spot for the age of children who are likely to experience behavior issues caused by a divorce. Around that same time, California conducted a study that followed sixty families going through a divorce. There were just over one hundred and thirty children involved ranging in age from two to eighteen years old. The study found that the thrifty-four youngest children, aged two to six, were highly devastated. I had just entered elementary school at the age of 5 when I added "divorced parents" to my life story. 

The Californian study followed all of its children for ten years. They found that more than a third of the youngest group suffered moderate to severe depression even as long as five years after the split. However, memories had faded after ten years, and they seemed to have overcome their difficulties. Many things could have contributed to this positive outcome, like a new step-parent or extra support from outside family members. For me, the abrupt move away from a stable home with a mother who greeted me after school with butter and jelly sandwiches to an unfamiliar setting where I often walked home alone to an empty house made things a bit more complicated. Good thing my imaginary fort and shapeshifting abilities could travel. 

Children of divorce become observers of life. We watch as conversations turn into arguments and listen from our rooms as those harsh words turn into life-altering decisions. We grow up fast and realize that life will go on even after a parent walks out and the door slams shut. Since there weren't many children's books on surviving a crisis, I created my own coping mechanisms and started to pay attention to navigating life. 

Kindergarten taught me to follow the posted rules, which are all well and good for running a suitable classroom. However, kindergarten also taught me that individual creativity is less desirable than group creativity. I would get positive marks as long as I drew inside the lines. Again helpful in learning to read and write. The problem begins when that thinking bleeds into making creative choices. Growing up, I noticed I was doing more what I thought people expected and less what I wanted. The "should" option felt safe and time-tested. The "want" desire started to feel scary because of its less popular unconventionality.

I wanted to purposely draw outside the lines, even at a young age. I felt comfortable there. Doing anything different meant that I had the opportunity to create something no one had ever seen before. I quickly learned that decision wasn't popular, and it led to a few adverse reactions like bad grades and smirks from my classmates. But I was okay with that. 

My uncle, Burt Rutan, Dad's brother, is also very comfortable drawing outside the lines. After graduating from Cal Poly-San Luis Obispo Burt, expected to work for a major aerospace company, built the Rutan Aircraft Factory instead. Here is where Burt made general aviation accessible by creating plans for people to build affordable two-seat airplanes in the convenience of their home's garage. However, he didn't stop at the airplane. Burt went on to spaceships. He designed a spaceplane capable of carrying tourists to the edge of space. Burt didn't like that selection as a NASA astronaut was the only path to experience the thrill of floating in space, so he colored outside the lines and created another way. 

My first introduction to Burt's space vision involved a rented house and a pink fuzzy bathrobe. In the summer of 1998, Burt, his wife Tonya, and a few other family members were renting a home during the week of the AirVenture airshow. Lars and I arrived back at the house late one night and were greeted at the front door by Burt, dressed in a floor-length pink fuzzy bathrobe. We followed him into the kitchen, where his initial plans for SpaceShipOne lay spread open, covering the counter. He described how his spaceship would allow anyone to float weightlessly in space and then return to earth with a smooth landing. At the time, he was playing with the idea of having the spaceship glide back to earth inverted, providing the craft's occupants a full view of the earth while returning from space. Over time plans changed slightly, but on December 17, 2003, SpaceShipOne made its first official spaceflight piloted by dear friend Mike Melvill who became the first licensed U.S. commercial astronaut. Finally, Burt's dream of accessible space travel became a reality. 

Burt tells me that if eighty percent of the people don't think my dreams are crazy, I'm not thinking big enough. Proven advice from a world-recognized revolutionary aerospace designer who designed a real-life spaceship and has a catalog full of experimental airplane designs to his name and designed the plane that carried Dad and Jeana around the world. Keeping his dreams inside the lines would have resulted in a much different biography. 

Creating a different drawing as everyone else can often be an unpopular choice. You have to know yourself and your abilities fully to have "the guts to try." Dad tested this that historic morning during Voyager's takeoff roll. If he had listened to voices ringing through his headset, he would have brought Voyager to a stop that morning. He never would have passed Pop and me at the end of the runway and might never have found the guts to try again. 

Discover a Dream 

​Remind yourself to have the guts to dream! The first step to building your airplane is to jump-start your dreaming ability again. Do you have a dream? I often find myself as a dreamer without a clear focus on my intention. As my dad would say, a vision without direction is just like "herding cats." It takes a lot of time, and you won't get anywhere. 

True intentions have a way of appearing when repetition replaces mental chatter. Pilots do this by taking "cobweb flights." Flying requires a series of checklists. Like mediation, the pilot's focus is on the repetitive tasks of flying the plane. Repetition has a calming effect on the body and nervous system. Like saying "Om"  in meditation, repeating checklist items frees up the brain's creative side allowing it to color outside the lines. 

It is incredible how ideas come into view by merely quieting the mind. Amelia Earhart put it best when she said, "You haven't seen a tree until you've seen its shadow from the sky." Dreams hide behind the chaos. Rise above the mental blockers and get a different perspective. 

Be Creative 

I once took a ceramics class where a plain white mug was on the table in front of me. My task was to paint it. I sat there staring at the mug for so long the instructor asked if I was okay. I dipped my brush into the nearest color out of embarrassment and began to drag it here and there around the mug. I went to the next color and then the next. Finally, the end of class arrived, and it was time to leave our creations behind to be fired and, unfortunately, preserved for life. 

Everyone carefully returned their mugs to the table and left the room. I carelessly tossed mine with just enough effort that it didn't roll off the table. I had planned to forget that horrible mess and never return. Then a few weeks later, there was a knock at the door, and when I opened it, my classmate stood with my mug. She was thoughtful enough to return it to me, and it wasn't that bad, to my great surprise. The mug's finishing sprung the colors to life. It was lovely, and today my now beautifully painted mug proudly sits next to my other store-bought plain white coffee mugs in the cabinet above the coffee maker. 

​Try New Things 

Take up cooking, enroll in an art class, write a memoir, volunteer at your local community center, or visit local museums. As inspiration for this book, I listened to books written by funny ladies like Carol Burnett's "This Time Together: Laughter and Reflection and Amy Poehler's "Yes Please." Hearing these talented ladies share their stories put me in a good mood and sparked many good ideas.

Look for opportunities to be creative. Do anything that puts a smile on your face and allows you to express yourself. Turn the music up and dance. You might be surprised at what you discover. With a bit of effort and some heat, you might find you can create a lovely mug.