This My Flight Suit

I had a very normal childhood. I grew up in the small desert town of Mojave, CA. My family lived in a quaint house at the edge of a tiny neighborhood. Our house was nothing special it was just a simple home with a partially built airplane in the garage and one fully assembled in the living room, nothing unusual.

At least, that is how I remembered it up until one particular event in my life. It happened while I was in my mid-twenties, married to a handsome young test pilot, enjoying my life while living on a remote Air Force base in southern California. I had just settled into my lawn chair to participate in an Air Force spouses' ritual that takes place on many military bases around the world. In celebration of the end of the workweek every Friday late afternoon, the spouses in the neighborhood grabbed the kids, their lawn chairs and headed to the front yard of a previously designated house. A wobbly table loaded with leftovers from the week, lots of kid food, and of course, bottles of cheap wine took center stage on the lawn. I loved getting together for some juicy adult conversation.

The required yearly move made it difficult for us military families to be anything other than keepers of the home front. So often, the primary duty of any military spouse is packing to prepare for the next move. Every two or so years, we are required to research the new schools, find the area's best dentist, hair salons, and restaurants, only to pack everything up again for a different location and a new group of neighbors.

I loved our Friday gatherings to get caught up on the latest gossip. It was like my own personal reality show. The topic from that particular week was the crackpot up the street. I was intrigued. From her lawn chair with an unmistakable eye roll, my fellow Air Force spouse said, "He is building an airplane in his garage!" The other group members shook their heads and giggled, implying who would ever do something so strange. I was confused. Why again was he odd? It couldn't be the airplane, could it? I grew up surrounded by people who built airplanes in their garages. How could something so familiar seem so strange to everyone? I started to question myself.

I struggled to put the pieces together in my head while the conversation moved on to other things like school schedules or the next themed party. While I understood that the backward experimental airplanes from my world weren't the first thing people see when thinking of an airplane, was it so unusual? Ok, I give you that one in the living room was a little usual but not unheard-of. I mean, people build cars in their garages; what is so strange about an airplane? What was I missing?

At that moment, I started to see my upbringing in a whole new light. For the first time, I understood my view of the world is unique. I grew up watching my Uncle design and build airplanes that didn't look like anything else in the sky and watched as my father flew those same airplanes into the history book achieving many of the world's aviation firsts. At that moment, on a Friday afternoon, in my neighbor's front yard, I officially identified as the weird person on the street. Hello, my name is Jill, and I am a proud crackpot.

I spent the rest of that evening chatting about food recipes and plans for the weekend, but all I wanted to do is introduce myself to the man up the street because I knew I would find him more engaging. Since then, I've spent my life looking for unconventional people and chasing after the rarely explored adventures in life.

I grew up in the Rutan family, and if you are familiar with aviation, you know the name. For those of you who do not, Burt and Dick Rutan are modern-day versions of the Wright Brothers. Some describe my Uncle Burt as the brain of the two men. Burt is a revolutionary aeronautical designer with more than forty aircraft and one spaceplane in his portfolio. And if Burt is the brain of the two, then his older brother, and my father, Dick, is the fearless golden-armed pilot with claim to many world-recognized records.

These two men in my life have put me at the forefront of many aviation firsts, from the milestone-setting around the world flight of the Voyagers to the X-Prize winning space flights of SpaceShipOne. Both are hanging in Smithsonian's Air and Space Museum today.

Reflexing on that Friday afternoon, I find it no surprise that I live in my own orbit. My family is full of quirky characters on both sides. On my father's side, we have aviators, self-proclaimed adventures, and people who spend their whole lives looking up to discover new ways to go higher, faster, further. My mother's side offers the sparkle of Hollywood clothing designers. In her world, everything was full of glamour. Her younger brother, Dennis, a self-made clothing designer, dressed everyone from Elizabeth Taylor to the King of Pop himself, Michael Jackson. His house, nestled in the Hollywood Hills, resembled my garage back in Mojave, except his "home builts" were elaborate costumes and spectacular beaded gowns created for the red-carpeted runway.

Those cemented and red-capered runway realities rarely overlapped. My childhood flipped from hours spent in a small dusty old hanger to a mansion overlooking Sunset Boulevard. I moved seamlessly between the two, never once considering how extraordinary these two influences were in my view of life. I grew up on a tiny airport located in a forgotten desert town, but I wore a designer-made gown to the prom. It's no wonder I relate closer to that crackpot up the street.

When I was sixteen years old, my father became an international superstar when he, along with co-pilot Jeana Yeager, became the first to fly around-the-world without stopping or refueling. I spent the next few years traveling with him as he enjoyed the benefits of fame. Then in a flash, as a result of a blind date, I met my future husband.

Once again, my life flipped from press tours and international VIP events to a future military spouse. Within a year of that blind date, I became the "Mrs." of Capt & Mrs. Hoffman. The next twenty-six years took me worldwide, living everywhere from South Korea to Southern California, all the while embracing my crackpot self.

Approximately every year, a new assignment took us on a different adventure. With every move, I embraced each location with the eagerness to discover something new. I liked to think I was coloring with every crayon in the box. I became a financial counselor, a water aerobic instructor, and a museum docent. I've attended Culinary School, worked as a Head Chef, and earned my Level One Sommelier Certificate. I learned how to fly, became a professional speaker, started a non-profit and a disruptive start-up. I wrote two books and had the unfortunate opportunity to experience breast cancer twice.

Then the day came when my handsome test pilot came home and said it is time for him to transition to civilian life. My twenty-six-year-long, never staying in one place, experience as a military spouse was coming to an end. It was time to start thinking about who I was going to be in my new permanent life. It wasn't easy, and it was terrifying.

What was a newly appointed civilian girl meant to do? No job description listed "person who has colored with every crayon," so as a self-proclaimed crackpot, I felt a bit unprepared for real life with only Hollywood glam and desert airport rat experience. My LinkedIn looked like a mile-long directionless mess. Feeling stuck, unable to escape the gravitational pull of a mediocre life, I had no idea how to move forward. So I decided I needed to learn how to build an airplane in my living room.

Since then, I've experienced an endless series of ups and downs, which felt like I was on a turbulent flight with no pilot. During my lowest times, I couldn't find a resource to help guide me through the specific feeling of being stuck. It seemed everything I found started with a story of someone with an Ivy League degree having a bit of a hard time and then ending with, "and then I sold my company for 6.5 million dollars." That narrative is far removed from what I was experiencing at that moment; it caused me to feel even more in a void.

Today I'm working on a book to share my experiences with all the successes, failures, and lessons learned when faced with a change in the hopes of helping my fellow crackpots and fringe dwellers to have the courage to say "screw gravity" reach for the stars.

If this is of interest to you, please share your thoughts, stories, and suggestions. Everything I have ever done involved my surrounding community, so as I write, I'll plan to post various sections in this feed to gauge interest.

Thank you for joining this journey with me.