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Almost every pilot I meet has struggled with fear.

But humans have a terrible relationship with it. So we treat it as the enemy. Try to block it out, breathe it away, avoid people or takeoffs, anything to make it stop. But the harder we fight, the more it runs the show. No wonder so many pilots feel stuck.

Here’s why fighting it backfires, and what to do instead.

I see a common pattern in the pilots I coach. After reaching a personal limit — altitude, turbulence, a busy takeoff — the feeling of their nervous system getting charged for action triggers negative thoughts causing internal friction and anxiety. Unaware, the pilot misinterprets the signal as a threat. They become distracted and stuck in a state of what-ifs, triggering the nervous system more, and enter into a self-perpetuating loop of overthinking and distress. Tightening up, focus narrows, breathing shallows and performance drops.

As they enter a fear state the pilot will usually try to white-knuckle and fight it through, flee the scene, freeze, or avoid the situation that causes the feeling entirely.

This happens in daily life too. Often passing under the radar of your awareness but showing up as avoidance. That important conversation you’re meant to have. That job application you haven’t submitted. That healthy habit you’ve been meaning to start.

The sensation of your body charging up, when read as a threat to your body or ego, becomes anxiety which gets reinforced the more you resist it.

The problem was never the signal, it’s your relationship with it.

If you find a little voice starting to pop up resisting these ideas I’d encourage you to give it a chance - this is the same mechanism of avoidance at play and is a sign of a primitive part of your being just trying to do what it does best and keep you safe by resisting change. Change signals danger. But avoiding change is a surefire way of keeping you exactly where you are.

This might be a little hard to wrap your head around at first, most of us have a poorly developed fear intelligence. But the sooner you start to notice your avoidant behaviours as a symptom of this subconscious process the sooner you’ll be able to make the changes needed to harness the energy and grow from it.

Feel the Fear, Don’t Fight It

Resistance comes in two main flavours, avoidance and suppression.

Avoidance is leaving the thermal when you reach your altitude limit, standing around on takeoff when it’s good to fly, not flying certain sites within your skill level because of certain people being there.

Suppression is trying to just stay calm and breathe the feeling away, jumping in your harness early, gritting your way through a flight but landing depleted from the stress and mental exhaustion.

Neither strategy leads to growth, and neither addresses the real problem: an underdeveloped fear intelligence, a poor relationship with intensity, and a lack of self-trust. All of which destroy your chances of flying in flow and hold you back from becoming the pilot you dream of becoming.

If you’ve been struggling with this for a while, it can start to feel hopeless. Many of the pilots I coach have been close to giving up. I’ve been there myself. But here’s what changes things. The problem was never you, and it was never the fear. It’s the relationship you have with it. And a relationship can be changed. Not by trying harder at what hasn’t worked, the gritting, the avoiding, the white-knuckling, but by changing how you meet the feeling in the first place. That takes patience, and some honest inner work. But the shift is closer than it feels, because it doesn’t depend on the conditions, or the other pilots, or years of experience you don’t have yet. It starts in your mind.

Change Your Mind

The first thing to realise is that the charge you feel - the butterflies, the raised heartbeat, the sweaty palms - isn’t a problem to be solved. You may not be comfortable with it yet, but that arousal is simply your body activating in the face of something important to you. It’s a neutral signal alerting and preparing you for action.

In turbulence, the activation sharpens focus, drives attention into the here and now, and prepares the body-mind to fly as one, in flow. The pilot who allows the energy to charge and flow through them flies more fluidly and with less effort.

But when this energy is resisted your attention largely goes to fighting it. You become distracted, tense, and rigid as you try to block the feeling and look for a solution to “the problem”. This inner conflict creates friction that breaks the body-mind harmony indicative of a flow state. The mind starts to wander. You start to look for the cause of this feeling - those carabiners don’t look so strong now do they? This causes your threat detection system, the amygdala, to fire another alarm, which releases more bioelectric signals in the body and brain and the only way to stop it is either to use more energy and grit through, or to eject from the situation entirely.

The pilot who avoids the feeling never learns to work with it. Every time you run, you prove to yourself that it’s unmanageable. And because you never stay with it long enough you rarely get to experience its magic.

Avoidance is sticky for a reason. The moment you back off, you feel relief and are rewarded by the brain for staying safe. The behaviour gets logged: running worked. So next time the feeling rises, the pull to run is stronger. Each retreat trains the next one. Worse, the anxiety never gets disproven, because you never stay long enough to discover that the situation was survivable and that you were capable of handling it. That’s the real trap. Not the feeling, but the negative-reinforcement loop you build around it.

The trigger - the altitude, the turbulence, the carabiners, the takeoff, the people, the failure, whatever - becomes the reason for the avoidant behaviour. The justification is rational and makes sense. But this is a symptom of the negative relationship that we have with the energy that charges up your body when the stakes are raised. And whether these stakes are seen as a challenge or a threat comes largely down to perception.

Now you might be thinking: but what if I’m genuinely in over my head — in turbulence, or on a glider I’m afraid of? “Learning how to have an intimate relationship with fear is one of the best things you can do,” explains Dr Andy Walshe, ex-director of high performance at Red Bull, on how extreme athletes meet frightening situations. Even when the stakes are life-or-death, the same thing holds: you become intimate with the thoughts, emotions, and sensations so you can loosen your resistance, let them go, and regain control of your inner experience. You relinquish the analytical mind to the intuitive action of the body-mind, feel the energy and let it flow through you, and operate at a level beyond thought — what the samurai call mushin — when you need it most.

And if you can safely back out — top-land, land, choose not to launch — and the limit is real, that’s not failure. That’s listening. Because fear of the glider, or of the conditions, is data. It’s telling you the challenge is too high for where you are right now. Heed the warning. Then, once you’re on the ground, do the real work: look honestly at where that fear is coming from — ideally in a community like Wingmates, where you’re not sorting it alone. A coach can help you find the optimal challenge — hard enough that you grow, not so hard that you freeze.

We are energetic beings. Your body is alive with it — the charge that builds when something matters, the bioelectric signals firing across every cell in your body. You are energy. Learning to connect with that energy, and to trust the capabilities of your body-mind and its intuitive intelligence, is at the heart of dropping into flow when you need it.

This isn’t unearned trust. It’s a different relationship with what’s there right now. Intimate enough to feel it. Practiced enough to let it go. Focussed enough to shift attention back to what matters — the action right in front of you without being distracted by the noise of suppressed sensations.

Instead of fighting the activation, you learn to feel and modulate it. Keeping you in the zone needed for optimal performance.

And it’s available to every pilot, at every level, in the air today. You are capable of far more than you realise. But the only way to get there is by focusing on the 80% that matters which 80% of pilots ignore - the inner game.

To help you along the way I’ve developed the CCC framework which I teach inside my course The Way of Fear that I’ll share with you briefly here.

Connect.

Connect with the feeling. Name it — say it internally or out loud: “I feel anxious.” “I feel afraid.” “I really don’t like that cloud.” You are not the anxiety or the fear. You are the pilot noticing it. Then ask why it’s there and do a reality check. Is the signal well calibrated — conditions beyond your current capacity, a genuine risk? If so, listen and act. Or is this about an uncomfortable sensation, about how the flight looks, about what someone might think? Feel the feeling. Notice where it manifests in your body. Does it have a shape? A colour? Is it big or small, translucent or opaque? Don’t judge what you notice. Just notice it with a detached curiosity.

Compose.

Next, use the breath to release resistance and tension. Compose the body and regulate the nervous system with deep breathing through the nose from the belly, ending on a long exhale through the mouth for at least three breaths. Go ahead and practice this now. Let the energy spread through your body — to the top of your head, to the tips of your fingers and toes. This isn’t suppression. Anxiety met and metabolised doesn’t disappear — it transforms into the presence that makes flow possible. And composing isn’t calming down. You keep the activation high. That’s where flow lives. What you release is the fight with the feeling, not the energy itself.

Commit.

Cross the threshold and return your focus to the activity. Set a small goal and commit to the action aligned with your values. Is it important that you overcome the altitude limitation? Then commit to that action. Focus on the feeling of the glider, the sound of your vario, the wind on your face. Get out of your head and into your body, into the deep now. Reset your state by using a mantra like “I’ve got this, Let’s F*cking Go, or Bring it on.” My partner likes to hum — which both adds to the playfulness required for flow and stimulates the vagus nerve much like the breathing you just practiced. Then commit to the thermal, the glide, the takeoff — whatever the action in front of you is. You’re not returning to where you were. You’re entering a new state — absorbed, effort-less, free.

You’re not trying to get rid of sensations, you’re entering a state of acceptance laying the foundations to drop into flow state rather than resisting the sensations that cause energy blocks leading to a fear state.

This is what I mean by developing your fear intelligence. And it’s the difference between a fear fighter and a flow warrior.

The fighter gets distracted, loses attention and tries to be fearless. The warrior gets charged and focused, and becomes fearfree — the intimate relationship with fear without being held back by it.

When you land — sit with it. What was the fear trying to tell you?

A skills gap: you need more hours, more ground handling, more experience in those conditions. Do the work.

A trust deficit: you don’t yet trust your wing, your training, your ability to respond. Build it deliberately.

An acceptance issue: there’s an outcome you haven’t made peace with yet. That’s the deeper work.

Three different answers. Three different paths forward. But you only find the answer by asking the right questions and taking appropriate actions.

This capacity to respond rather than react, to welcome discomfort rather than avoid it, isn’t built in the air. Cold showers. Speaking to a romantic interest. Going to a social function without needing alcohol. Choosing the glider that forces you to upgrade your skill rather than outsourcing your performance. Flying in conditions that stretch you rather than sitting them out. Every time you choose challenge over avoidance in any domain, you’re building the same relationship with discomfort that the sky will ask of you. Not to suffer but to grow. The warrior path is a daily practice.

Fear is the entry fee to anything that matters. The flow warrior doesn’t feel less of it. They feel more, alive and awake playing at the edge. Courage isn’t the absence of fear. It’s fear, felt fully, your hands on the controls, your mind focussed and free in acceptance of whatever fate brings.

Ready to transform fear into flow? That’s the work we do inside Wingmates, through the Way of Fear course and community reflection practice. Join Wingmates → (limited founding member spots left)

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You can’t think your way into flow.

In a recent session with a Wingmates member, we explored what happens when you tip over into the red of anxiety on takeoff.

Performance drops as the perceived challenge increases causing stress to spike. But this is a subjective state. Two people can experience the same event with completely opposite inner experiences.

Once you’re aware of the agency you have over your inner experience, you become empowered to take control of it. You can literally switch your state. Anxiety can become playful excitement. The feeling is real but it is not a verdict.

But you can’t go from anxiety straight back into flow. And we can’t think our way there. “Thinking positive” won’t cut it.

If you tell yourself you’re just excited, but underneath you still feel fear, you’ll experience cognitive dissonance — feeling better, feeling worse, feeling better, feeling worse as you try to argue yourself into a better headspace. If you’ve ever known what you want to do but still couldn’t do it, this could be why.

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Release first, then reset.

If you’re mildly in the red a simple flip of perspective from “I’m afraid” to “I’m excited” can be all it takes. But the deeper entrenched you are in the red the more important it is that you actually get into your body.

The mind and body are a single deeply connected system. So when you are stuck you are stuck both psychologically and physically. Before you can flip your state you have to release yourself from whatever is keeping you stuck.

For example: you’ve pulled up on takeoff and your glider is off in the bushes. Or you’ve gone too wide on the turn and fallen out the thermal.

The mental scolding begins - “ah you idiot, you should know better, you suck.” “Ah no now people are going to think I’m a bad pilot” or “ah now they’re going to fly away and I’m going to land, what are they going to think of me, I have to get back up” - take a moment here to reflect on your own negative self-talk in these situations.

What does your dictator say to you?

If you then just try to talk your way out of it - “I’m ok, I’ve got this” you get stuck in the cognitive mode. And you won’t be able to embody the new state. So you first have to be able to feel and release the emotion.

“Ag I’m pissed off that I did that” - release it, and then reset.

It’s important for you to discover what works best for you but release can be a big breath out (like breathing through a straw as you exhale hard), a little cry in frustration, a laugh, whatever feels appropriate in the moment.

The key is not to get stuck in rumination. You’re not trying to figure out what went wrong. You’re not trying to convince your dictator of anything. You’re just allowing the emotion to rise, pass through you, and be expressed.

Then you can reset using a method of your choice. You could do a playful dance, shake out your arms, sing a playful song, hum, shift your focus onto something external, say a mantra (let’s fucking go) - whatever helps to shift your physiology back to the desired state and then shift your attention onto the task at hand - in the moment, in your body, out of the mind - and if you’re lucky, flow will return.

How do you plan to release and reset?

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P.S. This is the kind of work we do inside Wingmates. There are only three founding rate spots left before the price goes up and doors close for a while. So if you’re on the fence, now is the time to join the world’s first flow-focussed flying community.

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I first became obsessed with ground handling when I saw a video of Chrigel Maurer launching in an insane amount of wind at the 2014 X-Pyr. In this one short clip Chrigel shows us a skill-set, and the confidence to pull it off, that most pilots will never achieve.

Chrigel wasn’t rocketed to Earth from planet Krypton endowed with superhuman powers. In fact, dismissing his skill as talent is an injustice to his legendary training: like practicing in 50kph + winds on snow fields to stretch his limits and learn how much he can deal with safely.

“When I want to compete in a hard race, I really have to train hard to be ready... to train even harder than you have to be in the race — that’s my goal.” — Chrigel Maurer, Cloudbase Mayhem Episode 45, 2017

I took his philosophy to heart, working my way up to strong winds on big obstacle-free grassy fields surrounded by trees for some added spiciness. I learnt how to active fly on the ground developing the sensitivity to handle my glider in all sorts of strange configurations.

In 2016, proud of the work I’d put in and confident in my skills, I pulled up my glider for the first time on Signal Hill in Cape Town with a fresh Sport’s Licence (IPPI 5) only to make a meal of it, dancing left and right running all over takeoff and narrowly avoiding the bushes under the watchful eye of a community of Tandem Instructors.

“What the hell happened?” I asked myself. It took me years to discover that it was a hidden type of fear and nothing to do with skill at all. And in this discovery I realised that there is a gaping hole in paragliding today.

Enter the Hole

For any worthwhile skill you need to learn both the technical and the mental side of it. Pilots want to fly, of course, but few pilots put sufficient time and effort into the fundamentals of glider control, and even fewer spend any time on developing their mental game.

The community at large sells SIV, but this is damage control (the cure) and it won’t help on takeoff or with a collapse low to the terrain. Relying on “passive-safety” — whatever that actually means — is a fool’s errand. Glider control through active flying (prevention) is the key to the technical side of this craft. But this needs to be trained, on the ground, in progressively more difficult and turbulent conditions (like Chrigel did) to develop the sensitivity and feeling needed to master your glider on the takeoff and in rough air.

It’s true, you do need to work hard. Self-belief only works if you have reason to believe it. Confidence comes from evidence. If you want to gain confidence on takeoff you need to practice, accumulate the reps, and put in the work. There are plenty of pilots that haven’t worked hard enough, who try to cheat the process through buying performance.

But does confidence really come from skill alone? And why does it so often fall apart, even when a pilot has every reason to be competent?

Fear Is Not Your Friend

In any high-stakes activity, fear can carry valuable information, but your takeoff nerves rarely involve immediate danger.

The common advice is to face your fear so that it gradually goes away through exposure. But this unwittingly reaffirms the false belief that fear is bad which forces it underground where it grows and strengthens in the dark causing further psychological stress.

Another common narrative is that you need fear to perform in these environments. That fear is what keeps you alive. I’ve been saying this too — but I’ve come to realise it’s only half-true. Fear isn’t your friend or your enemy. Fear is what you feel when your nervous system reads a signal as a threat. This arousal is information — it tells you where to put your attention. But it won’t tell you how accurate the threat is. That you have to decode.

The same arousal can get read in one of two ways: as challenge (I’m ready for this — energy mobilised cleanly, body opens up, attention sharpens) or as threat (this is too much for me — energy locks up, body constricts, attention narrows).

If you can amplify the signal and dance with it, the physical arousal sharpens your senses, drives focus for flow and powers up your performance. But suppressing it makes noise that muddies the mind-body connection, turning an otherwise skillful pilot into a jellyfish flopping around on takeoff.

These embarrassing performances are usually followed by excuses. Not through ill-intent but from an underdeveloped inner intelligence. I know because that’s what happened to me and, in my work as an instructor, I’ve seen it with countless pilots since. It’s rarely a skills issue.

On top of their own struggles, the pilot might receive critical comments, whispers and smug looks of judgement on their ‘lack of skill’ while in reality they’re struggling with something deeper and the unsupportive eyes only make it worse. But none of this is rooted in ill-intent either, it stems from the same underdeveloped fear intelligence of the status-defending individual.

The more shame there is around this feeling the deeper it gets buried. The fear may be miscalibrated, but the activation is real.

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There’s Nothing Irrational About Fear

Paragliding culture hands pilots the judgment pre-installed: your fear is irrational — you’re high, you have time, you’re safe. Just fly more, do more SIV, ground handle.

But this conflates two separate questions: is the threat real? (threat assessment) and is the feeling legitimate? (nervous system response). The first might be no but the second is always yes.

The feeling is real nervous system activity, often built from lived experience. A pilot who’s had or witnessed an incident, or watched emotionally charged crash videos has had their model of reality updated — their brain now predicts danger in similar-looking contexts and fires accordingly.

Think of it like a smoke detector going off at burnt toast. The alarm isn’t irrational — it’s responding accurately to its input. The input just doesn’t match a real fire. Fear works the same way. The question isn’t “is this fear rational” — it’s “what is the signal trying to tell me and how well-calibrated is it to an actual threat?”

The problem with seeing this fear as irrational is that it creates a meta-fear, the fear of fear itself. This cascading cycle is known as a secondary emotional spiral. You experience an initial, normal fear, but the judgmental thought “I shouldn’t feel this way” converts that primary feeling into shame leading to suppression and the undesirable behaviours that come with it, like standing around on takeoff.

A better frame for this is to think of it as signal clarity vs signal strength. The strength of the signal is always real but the clarity of the message might be off. Only by accepting (as a gift) and honouring the signal can you get clear on its wisdom.

The Two Types of Fear

When you go to jelly on takeoff, two types of fear can be running at the same time, but the standard advice only addresses one of them.

I’ve started developing the terms Somafear and Egofear which I’ll expand on in an upcoming essay. Here’s what they mean.

Somafear (somatic fear) is the fear you feel when you interpret a threat signal as a danger to your life or physical wellbeing. Turbulence, busy skies, a strong wind takeoff, a tight landing are all things that could trigger Somafear. It commonly arises if you don’t feel that your skills quite meet the challenge and in this way Somafear can be a great teacher. If your fear is rooted in a genuine ability gap, more reps will dissolve it.

Through acceptance and understanding, Somafear’s energy can be harnessed for performance as it activates the body readying you for the challenge at hand and drives focus for flow. But when you resist and fight it the energy gets trapped in the body creating rigidity and tension as you try to avoid the feeling — which is what white-knuckling through is all about.

Egofear is the fear you feel when you interpret a threat signal as a danger to your identity, image, reputation, status, or self-concept. What blowing this launch, flying this category glider, feeling this fear, would say about you. It’s the fear of being judged or rejected, and sits at the heart of status-driven competitiveness and comparison. This fear, often unnoticed, subtly leads to poor decision making, avoidance, and noise that prevents optimal performance and flow.

This is the misdiagnosis that keeps thousands of pilots stuck. They treat all launch nerves as a Somafear problem. They might spend tons of time ground handling or flying but the fear doesn’t go away. Eventually they either lose confidence in their skills, or they get good enough to hide behind them.

Ask yourself: if nobody was looking, would I still be feeling this? If nobody would see my tracklog, would I still be flying?

Progress Can Make Egofear Worse

A few weeks before my unglamorous takeoff on Signal Hill (which also happened to be my first Kommetjie run) I threw my reserve a week before a scheduled SIV course.

The cause of my cascade was a type of Egofear born from insecurity and driven by the need for recognition — also known as intermediate syndrome. I’d burst onto the XC scene that year winning our local league and when I saw a friend doing wingovers I felt compelled to try them too. I hadn’t studied the skill and didn’t understand the dynamics, so when I had a small asymmetric on high side my immediate thought was, “ah that doesn’t scare me, I’ll just do it bigger,” incorrectly thinking that it was a lack of energy that caused the collapse. On the next turn I went bigger and the typical sequence of events for this type of mistake occurred — big assym on the topside into a cravat.

The need to prove myself, to be the best, to win and fly further than others came from deep wounds. Once I had reached this level of status in our community (which by the way only came after others had started singing my praises) the need to uphold this position became immense and stressful. Other pilots doing well was a threat to my underdeveloped and fragile core.

This fixed mindset was also the cause of the noise on Signal Hill. I felt I had an image to uphold and if I messed up, who was I — the imposter that lived deep in my shadows?

This is why “just fly more” doesn’t fix anxiety for many pilots. More skill doesn’t dissolve Egofear — it often inflates it. After some success, the self now has more to protect, not less.

Somafear shrinks as your competence grows. Egofear can grow with it.

Fear Intelligence

“No Fear.”

This simple slogan captures a misaligned desire that most pilots have — to be fearless. But fearlessness leads to carelessness.

Being fearless implies turning the alarm off — which in a high-consequence sport, is exactly what gets you killed.

What you’re actually building is fear intelligence: the skill of reading the signal accurately, classifying it correctly (Somafear or Egofear), and responding appropriately. Heed it. Recalibrate it. Carry it. Or see through it.

Fear intelligence leads to a state that I have called fearfree. Like being carefree, it’s not without fear, but no longer governed by it. The signal still fires but with a new clarity, you’re free from being controlled by it.

Being fearfree is what makes flow possible. I can now walk up to takeoff and launch in a state of dynamic calm. If the conditions are on I might feel my heart beating, but it doesn’t turn into avoidant fear. It’s a sensation that I can now notice, embrace, and let go before it turns into a gremlin.

The pilot who walks up to launch unbothered by the watching eyes isn’t braver. They’re not pretending to be fearless. They’ve done both the external skills work and the fear intelligence work to meet the task at hand, turning what could be seen as a threat into a challenge.

And no matter what happens, their identity can’t be harmed because their flying is no longer a representation of who they are. Their value isn’t based on being “good” or “bad” at paragliding. But rather they now live in accordance with their values.

Try this:

Imagine a pilot that you admire uncharacteristically messing up on takeoff. What would you think or say to them? Would you judge or encourage them? Would you lose respect for them as a person or pilot?

Now ask yourself who you are. What values do you live by? Next imagine yourself messing up on takeoff. Does this performance change anything about how you see yourself?

Separating value from achievements can be very difficult for many pilots. This is where the inner work becomes important and having an outside perspective, like a Flow Coach, can be transformative.

Final Thoughts

I share these stories because of the incredible growth I’ve experienced through the mistakes I’ve made. When I started, it wasn’t for competition or even sport — it was purely for the adventure and the experience. For flow. I’ve spent years finding my way back to that. Speaking about fear has changed my life and the lives of the pilots I’ve worked with.

I hope you will do the same.

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P.S. The Way of Fear Course is now live inside Wingmates. We have almost reached the founding number of 30 members. Once we do the doors will be closing for a while and the price will be going up to the normal rate. So if you’ve been on the fence now’s your chance to join us.

Here’s what a member had to say about it:

The Way of Fear course is so rich. I can’t remember when I last came across anything so promising. Excited to put it all into practice. I’ve used bits of it in the past. Expecting the sum of all the parts, used, to release change, where bits haven’t. I have been blocked the last few years. Onwards 🙂

Paragliding is the pinnacle of human freedom.

The best days are simple. Just you, the sky, and your decisions. Each flight is an inner and outer journey, and when you’re in flow you land 50km, 100km, 200km — the number doesn’t matter — having grown, feeling like your true self.

But it doesn’t always stay that way.

A Way of Flow reader wrote:

Flying became too much of an obsession and had stopped giving me what I wanted from it — peace, fun, adventure, excitement, satisfaction.

How you fall out of love with paragliding

One of the most rewarding parts of my job as an Instructor, XC guide, and Flow Coach is witnessing freedom manifest when pilots have personal breakthroughs.

Recently a student bellowed out loud when he nailed a ground handling move. Six months ago a Wingmate broke through a fear barrier that almost made him quit. I see pilots finding confidence and changing their lives through their paragliding experiences. I see these deeply personal transformations all the time.

But I also see how this changes. How the lure of leagues, status, and metrics shifts the focus, causing pilots to lose some of that hard-won freedom. I experienced it myself, and if you’re still reading maybe you have too.

The most obvious symptom of this soulless drift is glider choice. Pilots take out ego insurance — buying gear they’re not ready for — as a shortcut around the harder work of skill and self-knowledge.

Chrigel Maurer put it plainly in an interview with XC Mag:

You have to keep your ego in check to avoid moving up a class. Some people would be better off with a lower category paraglider. They would have more fun, be safer and even fly further. But you have to be able to admit that to yourself. Are you enough of an adult to do that?

Carlo from Flybubble echoes this in this video where he says that gear choice is:

Often driven more by ego than actual readiness.

Why do pilots do this?

For the simple, largely unquestioned paragliding “truth.”

Performance is dead. Long live performance.

Performance. Performance. Performance.

No matter where you look this seems to be the underlying philosophy of our paragliding culture today.

Even the X-Alps — conceived as an adventure, a test of creativity and judgment — has become a race against the clock.

Most pilots think wing performance is their answer to flying further.

In 2025, 18-year-old Hugo Hadaš flew 498km on an EN-B — almost the same distance (512km) he’d flown on an EN-C the year before. The wing didn’t make the flight. He did.

The response is always the same — the conditions were perfect, the site is famous for it, he’s an experienced pilot. All true. But all beside the point.

Yes, gear expands the envelope — a faster wing opens days an EN-B can’t. But most pilots aren’t even close to their skill ceiling yet.

Many of these pilots have never flown 50km or even 100km before wanting to upgrade to the latest and greatest in the category, so that they can “fly further,” or to win, or to be the best — forgetting to ask if reaching these goals will make them happier.

But can you blame any of us?

The moment you qualify, you’re pointed toward your first competition. The content you consume celebrates numbers. The community asks “how far?” before it asks “how was it?” The heroes of the sport are defined by distance and speed. It’s a current — and it takes real self-awareness to swim against it.

Falling under the spell of both external metrics and gear, pilots unknowingly disempower themselves and make paragliding more dangerous by failing to recognise the most valuable tool they have in paragliding — their minds.

Passive safety is an illusion

It’s true, wings are safer these days.

But does that make you safer? Not according to Gerald Wilde. According to Wilde’s theory, people have a fixed internal tolerance for risk. Make something safer and they unconsciously compensate by taking more risk — until the felt danger matches your internal target again.

The classic example is seatbelts — mandatory seatbelts led to more reckless driving and more pedestrian deaths. Drivers felt safer, so they pushed harder.

Despite upgrades in passive safety, pilots don’t fly more conservatively — they push into conditions or manoeuvres they wouldn’t have touched before. Just look at the experienced pilots being killed on flare moustaches.

The gear doesn’t lower the risk. It just changes the set point. And you know what else changes it? Fame and glory.

Winning won’t make you happy

Most people believe that winning, to be the best and to make a name for themselves, equals happiness.

This is a tricky one to discuss because much of our society is built on it. It’s so pervasive that very few question it. Questioning competition touches a nerve that often leaves people triggered and defensive because they realise that they never sat down and decided this was the right way — they realise it was handed to them as a societal script and this lack of agency is scary.

But, like money, more doesn’t fill the soul.

In 2013 Ray Allen, one of the NBA’s all-time greatest three-point shooters, finally won the NBA championship — the moment he’d worked his whole career toward. He described the morning after as one of the most disorienting mornings of his life — he realised it hadn’t fulfilled him.

Ariel Zlatkovski set himself the goal to fly 100 x 100km flights in a year. He flew 800+ hours but the goal made him miserable. He found his joy again on a ridge soar in India, flying just for the sake of flying.

This is known as the arrival fallacy — we convince ourselves the next goal will finally do it. It never does.

The truth is that reaching goals isn’t the point. The richness comes from the journey and who we become along the way. Goals give direction and structure to a practice, but they’re meant to be in service of the process, not the point of it.

The goal points you toward the work; the work is where the meaning lives. As the famous Zen saying goes:

Do not mistake the finger pointing at the moon, for the moon itself.

At the heart of it all

What most of us fail to realise is that being extremely competitive and obsessed with performance often masks something deeper —

— a fear of not being enough.

Fear of rejection, of failure, of not being loved or accepted. This fear moves underground and influences your decisions — you blame your wing for your performance, you make excuses, you narrow your safety margin for those extra few points on the scoreboard.

I don’t claim to be immune to these pulls myself. Much of what I’m writing here is with my past self in mind. The one lurking in the shadows that got sucked into the drama of ego and status games.

In a desperate attempt for recognition, egos get triggered and pilots jostle to show off and prove who knows the weather better, who is the best (whatever that even means), and you secretly wish pilots will bomb out on that record day that you missed out on so that they don’t get the points.

This, too, is hard to admit. But why else are you so obsessed with being recognised in your community? What does it matter what others think of your flying? When did paragliding become about the minds of others rather than the rich subjective experience that we miraculously get to experience?

But now, I feel like Ariel. I too rediscovered my joy — which I’ve come to realise is all about flow.

The X-Alps rookie Sebrand Warren discovered this too, having an immense battle with his ego and struggling with comparison for most of the event. That was until his girlfriend on a WhatsApp call told him to "try and have a little fun."

After that he dropped his expectations and his comparisons and had the flight of his life. As Gavin McClurg said to him at the finish line:

You found your flow.

From fear to freedom

Performance follows from process. Focus on the process — the daily practice, the craft, the showing up — and the outcomes will naturally follow. Reverse it (focus on the outcome) and you get the arrival fallacy: endless chasing, never truly arriving.

The same reader wrote back a few months later. Her flying was in a much better place — a couple of “whopping great big fun flights” before the season had really started. She'd got her confidence back. But she knew the trap was still there: "I just need to be super careful not to fall back into the obsessive numbers game. But from a great starting point instead of a frustrating one."

What will your flying focus be on next?

P.S. Wingmates is where we're doing this work together. Price goes up as soon as the Way of Fear course I'm working on is finished.

After all, we’re paragliders. Hardcore, strong and fearless thrill-seekers. Right?

To the outside world I think that’s how it looks. And to the newbie, stories of cascades and reserve throws are met with laughs and survival-of-the-fittest attitudes.

But I know you know this isn’t the way.

Because we all feel it, but the problem is nobody talks about it. We have language for almost everything else in paragliding — wind, gear, airspace, thermals — but very little for fear.

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Heike Hamann is a four-time Australian paragliding champion. She’s been flying since 1992. She has also, across those decades, survived a powerline landing, a tow accident, a cascade at 5,000 metres in Spain that left her alone for five hours waiting for retrieve, and a reserve throw in the Austrian Alps that ended with a helicopter ride to hospital.

In 2009, she wrote a paper called Seven Steps to Dealing with Fear in Paragliding. It was published in Cross Country magazine and it had a big impact on my own journey to build my relationship with fear.

She also went on to complete a Masters in Process Work — a body of psychological practice about how people move through disturbance — because the things she was dealing with in the air eventually required more than pilot language could hold.

Here is what she wrote about the years before she built it:

For the longest time, I felt like I had to be strong and deal with them myself. Or more like it, not deal with the feelings at all, and just move on.

A World-Class pilot. Not dealing with the feelings at all. Just moving on.

What she’s describing is suppression. If someone at her level was doing that, what do you think the rest of us are doing?

I threw my reserve after a botched wingover one week before SIV training. I walked out without a scratch and literally laughed it off with my friends. I didn’t think much of it.

But something had shifted in me and I didn’t have words for it. Small bumps in the air now felt massive. My trust had been broken and the bubble of perceived safety had burst.

The thing I remember most clearly was the silence around it. Not because people were cold — paragliding friends are not cold — but because nobody around me had a language for what I was going through. We had language for weather. Language for gear. Language for airspace. But for the new feeling I had while flying, we had nothing. Or we had jokes. “You’ll be alright, mate.” “Get back on the horse.”

I got back on the horse. The fear did not go away. It just went underground, which is the worst place for it.

It took a while to find my way back to that place. Eventually I did, partly using her framework and my own deep exploration into paragliding and why we do it.

Years later I started instructing, and I started carefully bringing it up with my students. Asking what they were carrying. Whether anything had happened that was still affecting them. Almost every pilot had something that they hadn’t known what to do with, let alone had tools for.

One of our Wingmates flew alone last week despite knowing she’d be anxious before she even left the house. Climbed to 2,400 in uncomfortable thermals, talked herself through the breathing all the way up. Came back exhausted but changed. That’s what it looks like when someone actually works with fear.

That gap is what I want to start talking about.

Let me be clear about my position.

The mainstream paragliding culture tells you fear can be eliminated, or worse, reframes it as a “gift” you should be grateful for. Both of those land as dismissive when you’re actually standing on launch unable to get off.

Fear can’t be eliminated, and you wouldn’t want it to. Fear carries information — about risk, about your edge, about unresolved stuff from last month that you haven’t processed yet. The pilots who’ve lost their fear are not the ones I want near me on a spicy day. Fear, properly listened to, is one of the sharpest instruments we have. Blunting it is its own kind of danger.

What I’m going to do — in this essay and in the writing that follows — is lay out a way of working with fear, and eventually with everything fear guards the door to (like flow), that actually holds up. It draws on Hamann’s seven-step framework, flow science, decades of flying, and the particular education of having been the pilot who didn’t have words for what he was carrying and had to build them.

A way of working that I’m going to keep making sense of with my coaching clients and with you, in public.

If you’ve been carrying something — a bad flight, a close call, a slow drift in confidence you can’t quite explain — this is for you. Just notice that you’re not the only one, and that there is a language for this. We just don’t speak it often enough.

There’s a way to work with this instead of against it. I’ve been calling it The Way of Fear.

More on this coming soon.

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If you fly and want to be part of a smaller conversation about any of this — Wingmates is where that’s happening. It’s also where The Way of Fear course will live when it’s ready.

In a recent online workshop inside Wingmates, Nick highlighted a common problem faced by paraglider pilots around the world.

“I start feeling like I’m not sure if I’ll be able to think fast enough to do the right thing. So I stopped watching them (crash videos) because I think this is where a lot of my fear is coming from.”

And he’s right. He can’t think fast enough. Nobody can. In fact, pilots who excel and fly with confidence aren’t thinking faster - they’re thinking less (more on this later).

Jason, also in Wingmates, had this to say:

Even if you have no doubts in your ability to handle these dynamic situations correctly, there are several neuropsychological processes impacted by these worst-case-scenarios that may cause the silent deterioration of your confidence in flight.

I’m sure you’ve felt this intuitively, or even thought about it, but let me share some discoveries that crystalised it for me.

To do this we’ll first dive into a little neuroscience and psychology before I offer an approach (used even by fighter pilots) that I believe, if adopted, will lead to a community of happier and more confident pilots.

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Sharks, Spiders, and Stable Hallucinations

In 1975 Jaws fundamentally shifted the public perception of sharks from obscure marine animals to ruthless, man-eating predators, creating lasting galeophobia (fear of sharks) with real-world consequences. Global shark populations dropped 70% over the following 50 years, and Spielberg himself believed Jaws played a meaningful role in eroding public will to protect them.

In 1990 the release of Arachnophobia amplified and validated spider fears, while making many viewers afraid of spiders who had not previously considered themselves phobic.

Neither of these movies were real yet the brain treated them as reality, significantly altering the lives of many people that watched them. Why?

Under the predictive processing (PP) framework we see that the brain is not a passive receiver of information like a camera but more like a projector. Using the same cognitive structures that generate dreams, it creates a model of reality based on priors — experiences and expectations — and then updates its predictions with incoming sensory data when discrepancies lead to prediction errors.

When you watch Jaws, the brain isn’t passively receiving entertainment — it’s actively generating and updating its model of what the ocean contains.

This means the boundary between perception and imagination is not always sharp, or as neuroscientist Anil Seth puts it, “Your brain hallucinates your conscious reality.” This is why fictional experiences can become genuine priors for our predictive brains.

One of the major functions of the brain and learning is to reduce uncertainties about the environment and allow you to better predict what will happen next. When these predictions are difficult to make, we experience the situation as unnerving.

So a shark (spider, snake etc.) movie doesn't just scare you once — it installs a prior that makes the ocean perpetually harder to predict safely, which itself generates ongoing anxiety.

By now you can see where I’m going with this but may ask; wouldn’t a paragliding crash video watched analytically — “what went wrong, what should they have done?” — update useful priors?

The bad news is no, the “analytical watching” justification doesn’t hold up as well as pilots may assume.

“Analytical Viewing” is Self-Deception

Who experiences more trauma, survivors of an event or those exposed to media covering the event?

Researchers have found data supporting that people are vicariously traumatized when viewing media pertaining to traumatic events. One striking study found that people who watched six or more hours of media per day in the week after the Boston bombings had higher stress levels than people who were directly exposed to the bombing.

The media exposure was more distressing than being physically present — because the brain kept re-running those priors.

This vicarious trauma is real and measurable and shows up across studies. In aviation, hearing about a crash, especially on a familiar route, can stir creeping fear and a host of other sleep and anxiety problems.

“It could have been me”

This vicarious exposure elicits stronger responses when people feel psychologically connected to the victims — the “it could have been me” effect.

This is exactly what happens when you watch paragliding crashes or traumatic collapses. The identification with the pilot is real. You recognise yourself in them. It’s not abstract.

And to make it worse the “why” behind the collapse is often unclear because the air is invisible turning the sky, like a “shark-infested” ocean, into an unwelcoming place filled with danger. The brain doesn’t just remember the video, it incorporates it into the generative model it uses to simulate flying in real time.

In other words, watching enough crashes doesn't just teach "crashes are dangerous" — it starts to make ordinary flying feel more threatening. The analytical intent of the viewer doesn't override this automatic conditioning process, it leads to something far more debilitating — fear generalisation.

The Birth of Fear

Observational learning (indirect learning) is a powerful way of transmitting information between people and plays a fundamental role in how we learn about the world.

Watching others lets us learn about risk and rewards while dodging the dangers of direct experience (direct learning). We learn about intentions and motivations by monitoring and predicting the behaviours of others and pick up motor skills by modeling them.

This explains the appeal of these videos, they tap into our natural inclination to observe and learn what not to do from the experience of others. However, exposure to these indirect threats can lead to anxiety as the brain conditions and then generalises the fear response.

Fear conditioning happens when a neutral stimulus becomes associated with a threat through repeated pairing. In the classic laboratory model, a neutral image or tone is paired with an electric shock often enough that the neutral stimulus alone begins to trigger a fear response — the brain has learned to treat it as a reliable signal of danger. This is not a conscious decision. It is an automatic updating of the brain’s threat-detection system, occurring below the level of deliberate thought.

Fear generalisation is what happens next. Once a fear response is conditioned to a particular stimulus, the brain does not confine the response to the stimulus. It spreads the threat signal across to similar cues — a kind of safety-first overcorrection that makes evolutionary sense. Better to fear all snakes than to miss a genuine threat by being too precise. The brain loses its ability to confidently distinguish this is the threat from this is similar to the threat, and the fear response bleeds into a wide range of situations. You can probably see where this is heading for paragliding.

A 2023 study demonstrates that observational learning produces broader generalisation than direct learning. When fear is acquired by watching someone else experience a threat, rather than experiencing it directly, the brain’s ability to discriminate between threatening and safe stimuli is actually reduced. Observers showed flatter generalisation gradients and higher shock expectancy to stimuli that were merely similar to — but not — the conditioned threat. The brain, in effect, becomes less precise in its threat detection after vicarious fear learning than after direct experience.

When a pilot watches a collapse video, the brain is doing exactly what it evolved to do — learning about a threat from a safe distance. The wing, the conditions, the sounds and visuals of the moment of collapse all become loosely associated with danger.

But because this learning is observational, the generalisation is broader and less discriminating than if the pilot had experienced the event themselves. The brain does not cleanly encode “that specific combination of conditions caused that collapse.” It encodes something fuzzier and wider: flight involves this kind of threat.

The fear response then attaches to anything that resembles it — the sound of the wind on takeoff, the feeling of the wing in active air, the movement of the harness through turbulence.

The pilot is no longer just afraid of what caused the crash in the video. They are, to a measurable neurological degree, more afraid of flying in general. And because this process is unconscious and automatic, it bypasses the pilot’s rational confidence entirely. They may believe they are flying with the same composure as before, while their nervous system has quietly shifted its baseline threat assessment upward across a wide range of in-flight sensations.

The brain is a generative model that updates its priors based on exposure, and the content of what you feed it matters enormously — regardless of the narration layered on top. An instructor talking calmly over footage of a catastrophic collapse is still installing the visual prior of "wing above head → sudden violent deformation → pilot in trouble." The prefrontal cortex might be tracking the instructor's analysis, but the amygdala and the deeper threat-detection systems are encoding the raw sensory data.

This is the mechanism by which crash video culture unintentionally erodes confidence without pilots ever knowing it is happening.

The good news, there is a better way.

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Train Paragliding Like a Top Gun

Fighter pilots don’t passively consume crash footage and hope it protects them. They do study accidents — but within a structured system where every hour of failure analysis is backed by many more hours of competence building.

The ratio matters. And much of paragliding culture has it inverted.

In military aviation, mishap review serves a purpose. But it is confined to formal debriefs led by instructors, focused on decision-making and environmental understanding — why the pilot chose to continue into deteriorating conditions, what the terrain was doing, where the chain of errors began.

Focused on decision making, it is analytical in the truest sense: stripped of spectacle, directed at extracting actionable lessons, and compartmentalised so it doesn’t bleed into the pilot’s mental state before the next flight.

But this is the smaller part of the system. The larger part — the part that actually builds confident, competent pilots — is rehearsal of what right looks like.

Chair Flying

Since at least World War II, military pilots have used a technique called “chair flying.” No engines, no fuel, no risk. Just the pilot building neural pathways for correct action.

A study at the United States Air Force Academy found that pilots who chair-flew showed faster mission completion, more precise takeoff speeds, and better situational awareness than those who didn’t.

Chair flying at the United States Air Force Academy is a foundational mental rehearsal technique used in airmanship programs, including soaring and powered flight, to practice procedures before live flights. It develops "airmindedness," helping cadets simulate checklists, maneuvers, and emergency procedures to build confidence and decision-making skills.

This isn’t passive visualisation. Pilots move their hands to imaginary switches, verbalise radio calls out loud, and walk through emergency procedures step by step. Three-time world aerobatic champion Klaus Schrodt told Plane and Pilot magazine: the entire flight has to be imagined, seen, felt, smelled, heard — and the actual flight needs to be a copy of the mental preparation.

The brain doesn’t distinguish sharply between vividly imagined action and real action. The same motor pathways activate. The same priors are installed. But instead of priors built from watching others fail, these are priors built from rehearsing your own competence.

The neuroscience validates this. Visual-motor behavioural rehearsal (VMBR) — the scientific framework behind chair flying — has been shown to improve performance across domains from tennis serves to dart throwing to free-throw shooting.

The mechanism is the same predictive processing model we discussed earlier, but working in the opposite direction: instead of the brain updating its generative model with threat priors from crash footage, it updates with competence priors from rehearsed successful action. The brain begins to predict success rather than catastrophe.

Paragliding has its own version of chair flying, and it’s one of the most undervalued tools in a pilot’s development: deliberate ground handling or what I call Chaos Training.

Hours spent on the ground with the wing — feeling the pressure through the lines, learning to anticipate the glider’s movements, building the muscle memory of brake inputs and weight shifts until wing control becomes automatic.

This is not a beginner exercise to graduate from. It is the paraglider pilot’s simulator. Every hour spent deliberately ground handling in varying wind conditions installs the same kind of competence priors that chair flying installs in a fighter pilot — the body learns what right feels like, so that in the air, correct responses happen before conscious thought has time to intervene.

And of course, we can do this in a chair too — visualising flight vividly, feeling the inputs, hearing the wing, building confidence before we ever leave the ground.

Bandura and the Architecture of Confidence

Fear in paragliding has two dimensions: the emotional anticipation of something going wrong, and the skill gap of not knowing how to respond if it does. Crash videos inflate the first while doing nothing for the second. Competence modelling and progressive flying address both simultaneously.

Psychologist Albert Bandura’s self-efficacy theory provides the framework for understanding why this works — and why crash videos don’t.

Bandura identified four sources of self-efficacy, the belief in one’s ability to handle a given situation. The most powerful is mastery experience — actually doing the thing successfully. Next is vicarious experience — watching others who are similar to you succeed or fail. Then verbal persuasion and physiological state.

Crash videos are negative vicarious experience. You watch someone like you — a paraglider pilot, in conditions you recognise, on equipment you fly — fail. Bandura’s research consistently showed that watching similar others fail lowers self-efficacy. The observer doesn’t just learn “that was dangerous.” They absorb, at a level beneath conscious reasoning, a diminished belief in their own capacity to handle similar situations.

This is precisely the problem Nick and Jason were describing at the start.

In a classic experiment, Bandura divided participants with snake phobias into two groups. One group directly handled snakes. The other merely observed someone else handling them. The direct experience group showed significantly higher self-efficacy and lower fear in subsequent encounters. The implication is clear: direct mastery experience is the most powerful confidence builder, and observation — while useful — is a weaker and more fragile source of belief in one’s own competence.

This maps directly onto paragliding. A pilot who has spent hundreds of hours ground handling in strong, gusty wind — feeling the wing load and unload, catching asymmetric collapses through the risers before they develop, instinctively keeping the glider open overhead — has a qualitatively different relationship with turbulence than a pilot who has watched a hundred collapse videos.

The first pilot’s nervous system has encoded “I know how this wing behaves and I know how to keep it flying.” The second pilot’s nervous system has encoded “this is what it looks like when things go wrong.”

One pilot has built competence. The other has accumulated dread.

The Coping Model — What You Should Actually Be Watching

If you are going to learn vicariously — and we are social creatures, so of course you will — the question becomes: what should you be watching?

Research in modelling therapy offers a clear answer. The most effective model for reducing fear and building competence is not a mastery model (someone who handles the situation effortlessly and fearlessly) and certainly not a failure model (someone who is overwhelmed). It is a coping model — someone who begins with visible apprehension, encounters the challenge, and gradually works through it with increasing competence.

This has been demonstrated clinically. Modelling films showing coping models — individuals who are initially fearful but progressively manage the feared situation — consistently outperform other approaches in reducing anxiety and building adaptive behaviour. The observer sees someone like them, recognises the fear, and then watches that fear be navigated successfully. The brain encodes: this is frightening, and it is manageable.

For paragliding, the coping model equivalent would be footage of a pilot entering strong thermic conditions, actively working the wing, managing the bumps and surges, and continuing to fly with growing composure. Or a cross-country flight where a pilot encounters rowdy air, keeps the wing open through active piloting, and progressively relaxes into the conditions. These videos install a fundamentally different prior than crash footage: the prior that says turbulence is something I can work through, not something that ends in disaster.

A great alternative if you can’t get hold of examples like this is to join a community of pilots (like Wingmates) and connect with pilots at a similar level and watch them over time overcome their own anxiety, while also being an inspiration for others.

A New Training Culture

The alternative to crash video culture isn’t ignorance of risk. It’s a deliberate rebalancing of what pilots feed their brains.

Watch competent pilots handle real conditions — thermal flying, active air, cross-wind launches, challenging landings. Then visualise yourself doing it. Walk through the sequence in your mind: the feel of the brakes, the weight shift, the visual picture, the sound of the vario. Build the priors for competent action rather than catastrophic failure.

Pursue direct mastery experiences progressively. Spend more hours ground handling deliberately — not just kiting casually, but practising specific skills in stronger conditions until they become automatic. Fly in slightly more challenging conditions with a mentor present. Build your envelope gradually through accumulated success, not through shock exposure. Each experience where you handle what the air gives you is Bandura’s mastery experience and aligns with the flow model, installed directly into the nervous system through lived action.

When you do engage with failure analysis — and there is a place for it — do it in a structured context. A debrief with an instructor, focused on decision-making and environmental reading, not raw footage consumed alone on a screen. And always ensure the ratio favours competence: for every minute spent understanding what went wrong, spend many more rehearsing what right looks like.

Fighter pilots don’t build confidence by cataloguing disasters. They build it by rehearsing competence until correct action becomes automatic — until the body knows what to do before the conscious mind has time to think. This is what Nick was intuiting at the beginning of this article when he said he couldn’t think fast enough. He’s right. The pilots who fly with confidence aren’t thinking faster. They’ve trained their responses so deeply that thinking isn’t required.

That’s not achieved by watching crashes. It’s achieved by practising mastery.

Bonus

If you’ve made it this far you must be serious about your own progression - in these days of content bombardment I want to focus on quality over quantity. Your attention means a lot to me.

I’m so passionate about your progress and wellbeing I’ve decided to further my education in both coaching and flow science, I’ve decided to become an ICF accredited Flow Coach through the Flow Centre—the world’s leaders in this field.

The training is seven months of deep, theoretical and practical work. This means if you join Wingmates you’ll be benefiting firsthand as I apply these frameworks directly within our community to help you perform better and fly safer.

Wingmates

We’re seeing amazing progress in our members and I want you to have that opportunity as well.

To make it easier to join this journey from the start, I’ve made two big changes:

• Monthly Payment Option

• Founding Member Rate: For a limited time, I’ve rolled the price back to our original rate (and you’ll keep this price for as long as you’re a member).

That means world class coaching, weekly live events, and a supportive global community, at a very low rate.

Spots at the founding member rate are limited, so if you are on the fence, now is your time.

[Grab the Founding Member rate here]

We’re building a global connection of pilots focused on the craft of flying—no ads, no algorithms, just flow.

Happy flying,

Grant

P.S. If you’re not fully satisfied within the first week, I offer a full money-back guarantee. No questions asked.

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Many pilots battle between two states: Anxiety or Boredom.

If the air is too rowdy for your skills or you fly a glider beyond your skill level, you aren’t learning, you’re just surviving.

But if you only fly the same “sleddie” in perfect conditions, you hit a plateau and get bored.

To be an incredible pilot, you have to find the “Goldilocks Zone,” known in science as the Flow State.

That means finding your edge and incrementally improving your skills through challenge.

But we all have blind spots. We struggle to see where we need to push. This is where a coach is critical to your growth.

In flow science, this zone of optimal performance emerges when your skills are pushed to their edge. It’s that razor-thin margin where the task is just difficult enough to demand 100% of your attention, but not so hard that you freeze up.

You want to stretch, not snap.

When you hit that sweet spot, time disappears. You and your wing become one. You aren’t “thinking” about the thermal; you become the thermal.

Find Your Flow

The key to getting into the zone is self-awareness; to recognise our internal states and critical thoughts, and to turn these into triggers so that we can use tools like my CCC (Calm, Clear, Connect) framework that I teach inside Wingmates.

Paragliding is 80% mental, yet very, very few pilots spend any time on it.

This is a huge gap in paragliding training and I believe many accidents could be avoided if pilots knew how to develop their skills in a way that cultivates flow.

To fill that gap and help you find your flow, I’ve dedicated myself to understanding paragliding performance by going deeper into the science of how our brains work under pressure.

That’s why I’ve made a big decision.

To further my education in both coaching and flow science, I’ve decided to become an ICF accredited Flow Coach through the Flow Centre—the world’s leaders in this field.

The training is seven months of deep, theoretical and practical work. This means if you join Wingmates you’ll be benefiting firsthand as I apply these frameworks directly within our community to help you perform better and fly safer.

Wingmates

We’re seeing amazing progress in our members and I want you to have that opportunity as well.

To make it easier to join this journey from the start, I’ve made two big changes:

• Monthly Payment Option

• Founding Member Rate: For a limited time, I’ve rolled the price back to our original rate (and you’ll keep this price for as long as you’re a member).

That means world class coaching, weekly live events, and a supportive global community, at a very low rate.

Spots at the founding member rate are limited, so if you are on the fence, now is your time.

[Grab the Founding Member rate here]

(if there is no strikethrough on the price then you’re too late, sorry)

We’re building a global connection of pilots focused on the craft of flying—no ads, no algorithms, just flow.

Happy flying,

Grant

P.S. If you’re not fully satisfied within the first week, I offer a full money-back guarantee. No questions asked.

Join Wingmates

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If you’ve ever landed after an amazing flight only to feel a pang of disappointment moments later when you hear someone else flew further, then this post is for you…and me.

I almost ruined an incredible flight with the poison of comparison.

But I found a useful way to flip it that I want to share with you today.

The Problem

Flying represents human freedom.

But if when we fly for external metrics, to influence the thoughts of others on how “good” we are — are we truly free?

The journey—full of internal and external richness—gets reduced to a cold hard number.

In sociology, there is a term for this: Commensuration.

It’s the process of turning unique qualities (subjective experience or Qualia) into a common metric.

• The Qualia: The feeling of climbing in a thermal, the bite of the cold air, the specific shade of gold in the clouds. These are unique and “incommensurable”—you can’t compare the chill of the air to the color of a cloud.

• The Metric: “42.5km.”

By turning the flight into a number, you make it “comparable” to everyone else’s, but you strip away the individual essence of your experience.

You don’t see the courageous overcoming of internal obstacles. Invisible are the hours of ground handling practice, studying the weather, and life architecting that you to be available to fly this very day.

You trade the incomparable richness of your complex reality for the shallowness of a simple data point.

You become so focussed on the numbers that you forget to stop and smell the roses.

The Ineffable vs. The Metric

XC Paragliding is unlike anything else I know. It rewards us with views and experiences that very few humans will taste.

The flight I mentioned was full of moments that words cannot do justice to:

• I touched the base of a cloud.

• I peered into a forested mountain gorge I’ve driven past for years, while accessing a deep part of myself in a turbulent rocket of a thermal.

• I crossed the flatlands with a friend, exploring the day’s thermic puzzle together.

These are confidence-building, perception-expanding, soul-filling moments.

They are fleeting and ineffable.

To me, ultimately, paragliding is a means of honestly expressing yourself. Instead of trying to fulfill a concept of who you should be, remove the constraints and learn to be who you are.

In an XC flight, you cannot pretend. If you are slow and complacent, you’ll take collapses ; if you are fearful, you freeze. This Elemental Art strips away the social mask, leaving only the “honest” self.

Self-actualization is the process of removing the “noise” through humility, dedication, and practice to allow the true self to emerge.

And yet, we often let an external metric decide whose flight was “better.” This is a dangerous direction—not only because it can lead to risky decisions, but because we stand to lose something far greater: our love for flying.

The Overjustification Effect

This occurs when intrinsic motivation (flying because you love it) is replaced by an extrinsic reward (a high score, a rank, or “likes”).

Psychologically, if you start being rewarded by high numbers, your brain actually stops valuing the act of flying itself.

This is why pilots obsessed with rankings or distance often feel bad about a beautiful flight (with many learning experiences) because it was numerically short, or because someone else flew further - regardless of their subjective experience.

They become obsessed with “performance” and upgrade their gear before upgrading the most important instrument they have: themselves.

They may even quit when they can’t fly as often due to life circumstances, or they can’t get the latest gear to “compete.”

Their self-worth and status in the community becomes attached to their flying “results.” Flying far means I’m good. Bombing out means I’m bad.

If this sounds like you don’t worry, you’re not alone.

In the current paragliding cultural climate this is almost impossible to get away from. It may even be a necessary part of the development process.

However, don’t let it destroy your love of flying. There is great mystery and depth available to us all if we slow down, do some self-reflection, and dance for the love of the dance itself -not to get something.

Turning “Failure” into Success

On this flight, even though I landed at goal on my first attempt ever flying this route, I felt that “ego-disappointment” of comparison creeping in.

Using the feeling as a trigger, I stood there on the empty golf course surrounded by livestock at the back of this little South African town, still in my gear, and looked back in awe of the route I’d just traversed.

I thought back to my life when I couldn’t fly while living in Sweden—how much I would have given just to be in the air for just five minutes.

How lucky I was to have paragliding part of my life.

With a smile I took that moment to soak in the indescribable qualia and let the gratitude wash over me.

This simple reframe of an experience is available to all of us, at any time.

Try it, and let me know how it feels.

Systems Over Luck

But here is the interesting part:

I found the real value was in analyzing my flight using a new system I’ve come up with for myself and the pilots I coach.

In this process, I uncovered “golden nuggets” about my own flying and internal space that a tracklog could never show.

I clearly saw progress in my own flying and aspects that I need to work on.

It allowed me to be even more inspired by a friend of mine having a “gem” of a season right now. He’s in total flow. It’s easy to call that luck, but it’s engineered.

He has a system that balances his life and flying. He is living in flow, not just flying in flow.

When we reduce flights to numbers, we start looking for excuses (the weather, the cycle, our gear). But that doesn’t lead to growth.

Ask yourself: Who had the more successful flight?

• The pilot who flew 100km but made dangerous, impulsive decisions along the way?

• The pilot who flew 30km, pushed through a personal mental block, stayed safe, truly saw the landscape, and grew as a person?

We don’t see these things on the tracklog, we only see the number as say “wow, great flight!”

But was it? Only the pilot really knows.

The Goal Trap

James Clear, author of Atomic Habits, writes:

“Goals are good for planning progress, but systems are how you actually make progress.”

Most pilots set goals that actually restrict their happiness. When we tie our happiness to a metric, we step onto the Hedonic Treadmill.

If you fly 50km today, 50km becomes your new “zero.” To feel that same “hit” of success next time, you have to fly 60km. The metric forces you into a cycle where you can never actually “arrive” at satisfaction, because the bar always moves.

This is known as the Arrival Fallacy.

The false belief that reaching a specific major life goal—such as a promotion, marriage, or financial milestone—will bring lasting happiness and fulfillment.

Coined by Dr. Tal Ben-Shahar, this cognitive distortion often leads to a fleeting sense of satisfaction followed by disappointment.

In paragliding this can easily happen when you chase numbers or rankings rather than flow.

Redefine Success

“Success without fulfillment is the ultimate failure.”

— Tony Robins

What’s the point in flying if you’re not going to enjoy the journey?

For me, when I discovered flow I immediately realised that I’d strayed from the path that was uniquely mine. It gave me a concept and a language to describe the indescribable.

This truth underpins the great depth of experience that paragliding gives us. The experience that you and I share so clearly but that we struggle to put into words.

What I’ve found is that understanding flow more deeply has deeply enriched my own flying (and my life) by returning me to the source of why I started in the first place.

In flow we are whole. In flow we are one. In flow we grow and perform in ways we never achieved possible.

True satisfaction doesn’t come from easy results. It comes from using our skills to face and overcome challenges. To rise to the occasion and become a little better than we were before.

If we use this growth principle, which is the foundation of flow, then success becomes becomes the internal growth and the joyous state of being we experience in this very moment when we are in alignment.

True success is the freedom to pursue mastery.

When you redefine success as the pursuit of Mastery, the “win” changes in three fundamental ways:

• The Goal is a Horizon: Author Dan Pink calls mastery an “asymptote”—you can get closer and closer, but you never fully reach it. True success is finding joy in the continuous improvement rather than the final destination.

• Engagement over Compliance: Traditional success asks for compliance (doing what is expected to get the reward). Mastery-based success requires engagement (doing it because you’re obsessed with getting better).

• Intrinsic “Flow”: Success is the ability to spend your time in flow states, where you are so challenged and absorbed by your craft that time disappears.

In this view, Freedom is the oxygen for mastery. If you aren’t free to experiment, fail, and direct your own technique, you can never truly master anything—you’re just a high-performing cog in someone else’s machine.

Who and what do you fly for?

— G

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Mastery is a free-flowing, unhindered celebration of our humanity.

Most people don’t fail to master paragliding because they lack information.

They fail because they’re not living in alignment. They lack self-insight, a clear vision, and are often chasing the wrong goals under false beliefs.

“Knowing is not enough, we must apply. Willing is not enough, we must do.”

— Bruce Lee

Our society is metric-obsessed, and this has carried over to our art form—numbers, rankings, and comparison—with few questioning why they are feeding their ego instead of their spirit.

The Tale of Two Wolves

One day a Cherokee man spoke to his son about a battle going on between two wolves.

One wolf is evil. It represents anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.

The other wolf is good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith.

The boy thinks about the fighting wolves and asks, “Which wolf will win?” The man simply replies, “The wolf that wins is the one you feed.”

Today we course correct by feeding the good wolf on the path to true mastery.

The Vision

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not anti-ambition.

It’s the why behind our goals that trips us up. That, and the widespread ignorance of our inner world and the role it plays in performance and well-being.

Bruce Lee was highly ambitious.

But his motivations came from a far deeper source. He became a master of the outer world by mastering his inner game.

In January 1969 he was a nobody.Three years later he sadly died, but he’d already surpassed the 10 year, $10 million dollar, vision he had for himself. And he did so while living a harmonious and happy life.

How?

Bruce Lee lived in a state of alignment.

He was clear on his future identity - his vision, for the person that he wanted to become.

This vision served as his operating system, co-ordinating his mind, body and spirit in action towards this common goal.

Here’s what he wrote to himself:

My Definite Chief Aim

“I, Bruce Lee, will be the first highest paid Oriental super star in the United States. In return I will give the most exciting performances and render the best of quality in the capacity of an actor. Starting 1970 I will achieve world fame and from then onward till the end of 1980 I will have in my possession $10,000,000. I will live the way I please and achieve inner harmony and happiness.”

Bruce Lee – Jan. 1969

Notice how his vision wasn’t about what he could get. But rather, an exchange of value driven by an internal drive for freedom and well-being.

His commitment to “render the best of quality” required total immersion in his craft. This “flow state”—or mushin (no-mind in Japanese)—is the psychological state where challenge meets high skill, which Lee identified as the only way to achieve “true mastery.”

Lee’s path remains a primary example of how setting high-performance goals (Achievement) can be harmonized with deep presence (Flow) and a purpose beyond the self (Meaning).

The Way of Flow

Chasing highs are exciting in the short term, but the cost is high and the reward is low. Like any drug, all highs fade, and we need higher and higher doses to get the same effect.

It’s so easy to get caught up in this dopamine fuelled pursuit. We see it all around us in every part of society.

But this chase inevitably, and often subconsciously, feeds the wolf of envy, comparison, arrogance, self-pity, regret, resentment, superiority, and ego.

The Buddha has a name for these ruminations of that mind that impede flow; he called them hindrances.

And if flow is a superpower that let’s us achieve the impossible as demonstrated by Steven Kotler in “The Rise of Superman,” then these impediments to flow are our Kryptonite.

So, you have a choice.

Will you chase external gratification, or will you dedicate yourself to something greater?

Which wolf will you feed?

At Wingmates, we choose the latter, where paragliding is a vehicle for holistic self-mastery — mind, body, and spirit - aligning our vision for ourself in harmony with the greater community, using the PARA framework.

PARA

Prepare: this is where you set your vision for yourself and set the specific goals and habits that will get you there, Bruce Lee style.

Act: This is the practice phase. Here is where we use flow to improve our skills in line with our vision of holistic mastery.

Reflect: now we integrate our learnings. You can use a logbook but as flow thrives on feedback, having a supportive community like Wingmates is your turbo charger.

Adjust: use your reflections to adjust your goals in prepare, aligned with your vision.

The Truth

Here’s the truth: pilots know that you should be doing specific practice, like ground handling. They’re just not doing it.

The missing piece is accountability.

Why? Because it’s lonely and hard to measure alone. That’s why Wingmates exists—to provide the mirror and the map that solo practice lacks.

It’s the accountability, feedback, and problem-solving that come with having knowledgeable people in your corner.

We share in the community, and support each other along the journey.

Time to Do

Now it’s your turn. This week’s Wingmates challenge is to develop the vision of the pilot you want to become—your North Star.

To make your vision effective, it must be:

• Specific: Who are you as a pilot? (Tip: use traits of role models you admire to craft a unique identity—the clearer your vision, the better.)

• Unique: What is your value proposition? Beyond the metrics, how will your goals contribute to the community in a free-flowing exchange of value?

• Dated: When will this identity be your baseline reality?

This practice is the start of an identity shift. Mastery isn’t a destination; it is an upward spiral of becoming. This is the path to true transformation.

However, this shift relies on an alignment with our emotional blueprints, our personal narratives, our values, and our underlying beliefs. When these are deeply ingrained, the process requires rewiring to prevent cognitive dissonance—that internal friction that happens when your daily actions don’t match your new self-image.

But that is a subject for another email.

For now, sit with the question:

Who do you see yourself becoming?

— Grant

And if you want a supportive community to keep you aligned with your vision, I look forward to personally welcoming you inside Wingmates.

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Last weekend I watched two pilots take completely different approaches.

One hung around on launch, waiting for perfect conditions. The other clipped in and launched early, floated around in light lift, landed, and smiled.

When the thermals switched on, the early flyer was already tuned in — the other was still nervously sitting on takeoff waiting for perfect.

That small difference revealed a powerful truth about progress.

The Hidden Habit

In my coaching, I’ve noticed this same pattern —
a habit that separates fast improvers from those who plateau.

While it may seem trivial at first, incorporating this into your practice will change your flying, guaranteed.

But before we get to the habit itself, we need to understand the silent flow-blocker that masquerades as logic and stops pilots from implementing it: fear.

Is Fear Bad?

Fear gets a bad rap.

In some circles, even talking about it feels taboo. To avoid shame, most people hide their fears or overcompensate with bravado, trying to appear fearless.

Yet fear is as natural as the sunrise — an ancient signal readying us for action.

The problem is that we lump all fear together when, in truth, there are two very different kinds.

Two Kinds of Fear

Fear 1 — the psychological, ego-based fear that holds us back.
​Fear 2 — the physical, instinctive fear that keeps us alive.

Fear 1 (anxiety) is the voice of the inner critic — worrying about failure, judgment, or not being good enough. It is a disease of the overthinking mind.

Fear 2 sharpens perception and energizes the body when it matters most — it’s a gift and a tool we can use to activate ourselves for peak performance.

Breakthroughs happen when we work with Fear 2 and release Fear 1.

Fear 1 tries to predict every negative outcome, creating a self-made, self-fulfilling mental prison.

When that anxiety takes over, we:

• tighten up and lose flexibility
• deplete energy and stamina
• stop breathing
• slow reactions
• lose control

The more we tighten, the more we doubt ourselves — and the cycle repeats.

This fear shows up as resistance — that subtle magnetic force that keeps us stuck.

It disguises itself as logic: pilots standing on takeoff, waiting for conditions to be “good.”

Look closer and you’ll see the deeper root — the fear of failure, especially the fear of bombing out while others climb away.

Many pilots unconsciously tie their performance to their self-worth.

So they wait — frustrated — while others fly, learn, and grow.

The Habit That Eliminates Fear 1 (anxiety)

There’s only one real way to dissolve this fear: action.

But not blind action — action taken without attachment to results.​
The ability to fly for the sake of flying. To practice for the sake of practice.

Our most confident students have done many more flights in the same timeframe as those who remain stuck.

That’s the habit: reframe early flights as warm-ups. Fly early. Fly often.

And instead of measuring success by altitude or distance — metrics outside your control — focus on goals fully within it: preparation, warm-up intentions, post-flight reflection, awareness of your internal state.

Why it works:

• Warm-up flights calm the mind — you shake off nerves before pressure builds.

• You build sensitivity — light, tricky air trains finesse and control.

• You compound awareness — each flight adds data; the mind and body adapt faster.

• You enter flow sooner — when it turns on, you’re already there.

It’s not about chasing big flights; it’s about rhythm. When you get into the groove, everything falls into place as if like magic. But it’s not magic, it starts with the proactive habit of practice.

Every takeoff becomes training.

This is the principle of Kaizen: of becoming one percent better every day.

Over time, that habit compounds into mastery.

Fear isn’t the opposite of flow; it’s the doorway to it.

Flow begins where control ends.

The Warrior Spirit

Behind this habit lies something deeper — a spirit that refuses to wait for life to be perfect before engaging with it.

To act in spite of fear.

NOTE: We’re not trying to become fearless. This is stupid. Fear is an ally — a messenger and bringer of power. The difference lies in our perspective.

Warm-up launch pilots aren’t reckless; they’re proactive.

They don’t wait to feel confident — they earn confidence through action.

This is very important to realise.

Neuroscientist Lisa Feldman Barrett explains anxiety in her book 7 ½ Lessons About the Brain like this:

“Panicking is your brain calling you out—you didn’t put in the work, the practice, the preparation.

And Alex Hormozi put’s it like this:

“You’re nervous because you’re underprepared. Hard to be nervous when you’ve actually done the same thing the same way 100 times in a row.”

What you may fail to realise is that your heroes are not fearless.

They act in spite of their fear. They allow themselves to feel it and then do the thing anyway.

That’s the Warrior Spirit: showing up despite uncertainty, meeting challenges head-on, and trusting that courage will reveal clarity.

True mastery — in flying and in life — isn’t passive. It’s lived moment by moment, through decisive, conscious action.

Each time you move through fear you expand your horizons and sharpen your edge. You return changed and renewed having overcome a past limitation. You’ve grown.

This is neverending.

As you overcome one obstacle a new one presents itself. You can either complain or wish it was easy and become overwhelmed by the challenge or you can welcome it, tackle it head on and embrace it as a challenge.

The latter is you my friend, deep down you are a warrior. Never forget that.

The Healing Power of Flow

There’s another reason this matters — one that goes deeper than skill.
Flow doesn’t just make you a better pilot; it makes you a healthier human.

Every time you enter that state of pure focus, your brain releases a natural mix of chemicals — dopamine, serotonin, endorphins, and anandamide — that:

• restore balance
• lift mood
• quiet anxiety
• build confidence

Flying isn’t an escape from life; it’s a return to it.
That’s why so many pilots describe it as healing — because it is.

And the only way to get there is to take action at your edge — to stretch but not snap, and to trust the process.

Tip of the Week

Next time you fly:

• Treat your first flight as a warm-up, not a test.

• Focus on breathing and body awareness before launch.

• After landing, regardless of the outcome, reflect on the lesson

Reflection

Fear isn’t the opposite of flow; it’s the doorway to it.
Flow begins where control ends.

As Shunryu Suzuki wrote:

“To enjoy your life in your effort, little by little, even though it is impossible to make that million, or actually getting that million — which is more important?
Trying to do something in itself is enlightenment.”

Progress isn’t about external results.
It’s about finding joy and meaning in the effort itself — in the simple act of flying.

Flow is nature’s way of reminding us we’re already whole.

— Grant

P.S. If you want to join a community of supportive pilots taking ownwership of their paragliding and their lives - join Wingmates here

P.P.S If you’ve gotten any value from this article the biggest compliment you can give me is to share it.

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Wing Load Calculator

Quick Tip: When you open the calculator, remember to select which class of glider from the dropdown (it makes a difference).

On desktop you can compare up to 6 gliders within the same class at a time.

Why This Tool Exists

Most pilots rely solely on the Certified Weight Range on their wing (e.g., "75–95 kg") to determine if they are safe to fly. While certification guarantees that the wing will recover from collapses safely (so-called "Passive Safety"), it does not tell you how the wing will feel and fly ("Active Authority"), particularly in strong wind or thermic conditions.

• Certification tests recovery.

• Wing Loading contributes to performance: speed, internal pressure, handling, and wind penetration.

This calculator uses All up Weight divided by the Flat area (more on why below) to reveal the aerodynamic truth of your configuration, which often tells a different story than the marketing brochure.

Disclaimer This tool is meant as a guide to help contextualise how wing loading affects performance and handling. But it cannot be looked at in isolation. Pilot size, aspect ratio, and harness type all play a significant part. Always verify your wing’s certification status. Flying outside the manufacturer’s specified weight range voids certification and may alter flight characteristics beyond tested limits. This tool provides aerodynamic analysis, not legal or safety advice.

1. The Metric: What is Wing Loading?

Wing loading is simply your Total Take-Off Weight divided by the Flat Surface Area of the glider. (Projected area can be used, but Flat Area is the aerodynamic industry standard, so we use that to maintain consistency.)

Based on current feedback, many pilots would like to use the projected area and have classes based on aspect ratio.

My goal is to update this tool to give you this option in our southern hemishpere winter months (middle of the year 2026).

Subscribe for Tool Updates

If you have any questions about the results or aren’t sure how to interpret your specific loading number, or have further suggestions for improvement, leave a comment below.

• Low Loading (Light): The wing is "under-pressurized." It floats well in calm air but lacks the momentum to cut through wind or turbulence.

• High Loading (Heavy): The wing is "highly pressurized." It is fast and solid but reacts more aggressively to collapses due to higher kinetic energy.

2. The "Small Wing" Disadvantage (The Scale Effect)

One of the most misunderstood and unfair realities of paragliding is that the math favors heavier pilots.

A large wing (28 m²) is inherently more efficient than a small wing (21 m²) due to the Scale Effect and Reynolds Numbers. To a small wing, the air feels "thicker" and "stickier," creating relatively more drag.

But beyond aerodynamics, the loading math itself is skewed:

• Large Wings (e.g., Size L/XL): Pilots on these wings naturally achieve higher wing loading numbers. A pilot flying a Large wing, even in the middle of their weight range, often sits comfortably in the "Green Zone." They get solid pressure and good penetration by default.

• Small Wings (e.g., Size XXS/XS): Pilots on these wings struggle to generate enough pressure. A small pilot can load their wing to the absolute maximum of the certified weight range and still fail to reach the optimal "Green Zone" loading.

The Consequence:

To achieve the same flight feel (solidity and wind penetration) as a heavy pilot, a light pilot often has to load their wing to 100% or more of the range.

• Heavy Pilot: Can fly at 75% range and be "Optimal."

• Light Pilot: Must fly at 100% range just to avoid being "Floaty."

This is why our calculator might show a small pilot as "Yellow / Light" even if they are legally at the top of their certified weight. The physics of being small puts you at a disadvantage that the certification label does not reveal.

3. The Paradoxes: When "Legal" Isn't "Optimal"

This tool highlights the conflict between Certification (Safety) and Physics (Flight Mechanics).

Scenario A: The "Red Zone" Inside the Weight Range

• Example: A student flying a 21 m² wing at 50kg (Certified EN-A).

• The Calculator Says: Severely Underloaded (Red).

• Why: Even though the manufacturer certifies the wing as "safe" (meaning it recovers well), at this weight, the internal pressure is critically low (< 2.8 kg/m²). The wing acts like a "jellyfish"—it lacks the structural tension to stay open in turbulence and lacks the momentum to penetrate upwind.

• The Reality: You are legal, but aerodynamically vulnerable.

Scenario B: The "Green Zone" Outside the Weight Range

• Example: A progression pilot flying a 21 m² wing at 5kg over the max weight. ● The Calculator Says: Balanced / Standard (Green).

• Why: Physically, the wing is finally pressurized enough to cut through the air effectively. The pilot experiences the "Optimal" flight feel that larger pilots get naturally.

• The Reality: You are aerodynamically optimized, but you are flying an uncertified/illegal configuration.

4. Class-Specific Logic

We treat different classes of wings differently because the priorities change as you progress. School & Progression (EN A / Low B)

• Priority: Wind Penetration vs. Forgiveness.

• The Logic: We penalize light loading here because beginners are most at risk of being blown backward in strong winds. However, we cap the "Green Zone" strictly (at roughly 3.9 kg/m²). Overloading a beginner wing removes the passive forgiveness students rely on, making reactions too dynamic.

XC Sport (High B / EN C)

• Priority: Handling & Efficiency.

• The Logic: The "Green Zone" is narrower. Pilots need enough weight to control the glider with authority (inputs/weight shift) and keep the nose open on speed bar and in thermic conditions. Light loading here is marked as "Vague" because you reduce the feedback and connection with the wing.

Performance (EN D / CCC)

• Priority: Structural Integrity.

• The Logic: At this level, flying light is dangerous (cravats/stalls). However, flying too heavy risks Shock Loading. The lines on 2-liners are thin and under immense tension. Overloading these wings risks physical failure of the equipment during an explosive collapse.

5. How to Use the Results

• 🟢 Green | Optimal You are in the aerodynamic sweet spot. Your wing will perform exactly as the designer intended with solid internal pressure.

• 🟡 Yellow | Light You are safe, but turning authority is reduced. Feedback feels softer, making it harder to sense thermals. You will struggle to penetrate strong winds compared to your peers.

• 🔴 Red (Under) | Severe Caution. Regardless of certification, your wing is effectively too large for your weight. Internal pressure is critically low. Avoid strong conditions.

• 🔴 Red (Over) | Dynamic Caution. You have high kinetic energy. Everything happens faster. Ensure your pilot skills are up to the task of catching impulsive surges.

6. The Evolution of Loading: Class by Class

A common question is: "Why is the Green Zone different for every class?"

The data below, compiled from industry-leading manufacturers (Ozone, Advance, Skywalk, Gin, Niviuk), reveals a clear trend: As performance increases, the required wing loading increases.

Industry Averages: The "Sweet Spot" Shifts Up

The table below represents the average loading across popular wings in each class.

+-------------------+---------+------------+-------+--------------------------------------+
| CLASS             | BOTTOM  | MIDDLE     | TOP   | WHY?                                 |
|                   | (Light) | (Standard) | (Perf)|                                      |
+-------------------+---------+------------+-------+--------------------------------------+
| School (EN A)     |   2.8   |    3.3     |  3.9  | Prioritizes low speed for safe       |
|                   |         |            |       | landings & forgiving stall recovery. |
+-------------------+---------+------------+-------+--------------------------------------+
| XC Sport (High B) |   3.2   |    3.6     |  4.0  | Balances thermal float with enough   |
|                   |         |            |       | pressure to glide into the wind.     |
+-------------------+---------+------------+-------+--------------------------------------+
| Sports (EN C)     |   3.4   |    3.9     |  4.3  | Requires higher pressure to maintain |
|                   |         |            |       | profile stability on speed bar.      |
+-------------------+---------+------------+-------+--------------------------------------+
| Performance (EN D)|   3.7   |    4.1     |  4.5  | High internal pressure is mandatory  |
|                   |         |            |       | to prevent collapse at high speeds.  |
+-------------------+---------+------------+-------+--------------------------------------+
| Competition (CCC) |   4.2   |    4.5     |  4.8* | Maximum rigidity. Must be "hard" to  |
|                   |         |            |       | cut through air at 60+ km/h.         |
+-------------------+---------+------------+-------+--------------------------------------+

Note on Maximums: These figures are averages. Specific high-performance wings often exceed these numbers. For example, while the average top loading for the CCC class is 4.8 kg/m², specific wings like the Niviuk Icepeak X-One are designed to fly at loadings up to 5.0 kg/m². Always consult your specific wing's manual.

A Note on Tandems

Tandems have the widest range (2.8 – 5.4 kg/m²) to accommodate passenger variance.

• At 5.4 (Heavy): While high loading increases trim speed and pressure, the glider still suffers from significant parasitic drag (two pilots, spreaders). Even heavily loaded, a tandem retains the glide efficiency of a standard EN B and will not match the upwind glide angle of a modern solo XC wing.

Happy flying,

Grant

P.S. I’m not an aerodynamics expert or a manufacturer, just a passionate guy trying to make a positive contribution. If you have Questions/ Corrections/ Suggestions/ Feedback - please leave a comment below.

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Have you ever wondered why you can have excellent ground handling skills at your training grounds, but still botch your takeoff?

That’s what happened to one of my coaching clients last week, and it reminded me of one of the most important, yet rarely spoken about, skills in paragliding.

Today I want to share a tool that, if implemented correctly, will change your paragliding forever.

But to understand why this works, we must first explore the mechanism that often causes things to go wrong.

Signal vs Noise

Peak paragliding performance happens when mind, body, and wing act as one harmonious whole.

Flow is defined as an optimal state of consciousness where we feel our best and perform our best. Fully engaged in the activity at hand decisions and actions effortlessly follow one after each other, our sense of self disappears, time passes in strange ways, and the thinking mind stops.

Thinking introduces concepts, and concepts become obstacles between us and the direct, instantaneous, feedback we need to make precise micro-adjustments onthefly.

With crystal clear signal we can flow with the feedback, mind-body-glider as one.

Until we are hit by noise.

Mental noise disrupts the feedback signal, pulls us out of flow and destroys skilled performance.

Nowhere is this more clear than on takeoff — especially when there are many eyes watching — when all our practice becomes sabotaged by external interference.

Sources of Noise

Noise comes in many forms but is commonly rooted in fear and presents itself as mental chatter.

Research in aviation and high-risk environments shows that performance-impairing “noise” can stem from emotional (fear, anxiety), cognitive (overload, novelty), and situational (new site, pressure to perform) factors, all of which disrupt attention and decision-making.

Subtle shifts in breathing, heart rate, and sweating often show up long before any noticeable drop in performance. These early physiological cues signal that overload is building in the background.

On launch, this shows up as rushing, shallow breathing, watching others instead of focusing on your wing, or getting flustered while preparing for takeoff.

Ego and trying to prove oneself is another sneaky form of noise rooted in validation seeking. This one is difficult to admit, but none of us are immune.

Becoming aware of these causes and symptoms early can help you intervene to reduce noise and boost the signal needed for peak performance.

So how do you clear the static?

How to Improve the Signal-to-Noise Ratio

Improving your signal-to-noise ratio starts with understanding one thing: thinking is the cause of all your problems.

“Thoughts create. Thinking destroys.”

— Joseph Nguyen

The body is always giving you the right information, but the mind is often too loud to hear it.

When fear, pressure, or self-judgment creep in, the signal weakens.

When awareness returns to the body, the signal strengthens again.

Mindfulness is the foundation. When you bring your attention back to the present and become aware of your thinking, the mental chatter fades. The nervous system settles.

Research across aviation and high-performance sports shows that mindfulness sharpens attentional control and reduces the brain’s tendency to fixate on irrelevant stimuli.

In flying terms, it lets you feel the wing again rather than getting lost in your thoughts. A mindful pilot hears the signal sooner and reacts with clarity instead of tension.

Breathing is the fastest way to quiet noise. Rapid, shallow breaths are one of the earliest signs that your system is overloaded. Slow, controlled breathing restores stability almost instantly.

A long exhale lowers arousal, steadies the mind, and clears internal interference. One deliberate breath before you commit to takeoff can bring you back into your body and give the wing a clean, quiet channel to communicate through.

You don’t need complicated techniques. You just need to breathe like you’re already in control.

Visualization ties everything together:

What’s fascinating about mental imagery is that the brain responds to it almost as if the event is happening.

When you rehearse a takeoff in your mind — feeling the wing rise, stepping towards it, feeling the pressure, timing the turn — you activate the same neural pathways involved in real movement.

The mind becomes familiar with the sequence. Familiarity reduces anxiety. Reduced anxiety reduces noise.

Visualizing the takeoff strengthens the motor signal while softening the interference that normally disrupts it.

You can think of it this way: the more vividly you imagine a clean launch, the quieter the mind becomes when it’s time to perform it.

This is why athletes across every high-consequence sport rely on visualization before crucial moments. For pilots, replaying the launch once or twice in your mind before clipping in can remove surprises, lower arousal, and create a sense of calm readiness.

Together, mindfulness, breathing, and visualization create a stable internal environment for flow.

They clear static, reduce interference, and allow the body to hear what the wing is telling it.

When the signal is strong, timing improves.

When noise drops, awareness returns.

And when mind and body reconnect, flying becomes fluid.

Flow doesn’t begin in the air. It begins on launch, in the moments before your feet even leave the ground.

Wingmates of the Week

Wes & Lorinda

Wes and Lorinda came over from Texas for a short South African adventure.

Wes wanted guiding and to fly XC with his wife - her first tandem ever.

After 2.5 hours flying we reached our goal, 50km from takeoff and his first ever mountain crossing.

Here’s how we did it:

• Focussed on a good pre-flight briefing, strategy and flight plan

• I helped Wes get established in his first thermal (on radio)

• We gaggle flew the entire route, sharing many thermals along the way.

Wes then executed the plan like a pro. Twice digging himself up from low by staying patient and working with me in the climbs.

Way to go buddy - what a flight!

Here’s our tracklog.

Final Thoughts

“Mindfulness means paying attention in a particular way, on purpose, in the present moment, nonjudgmentally, as if your life depended on it.”

- Jon Kabat-Zinn

Remember: Critical comments and judgments on takeoff don’t help and can even create noise for the pilot, becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy.

If someone is struggling it might not be due to effort (like groundhandling practice) but rather due to unprocessed internal noise that they’re unaware of.​
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​Awareness makes you not just a better pilot, but a better supporter of others — if what you learn here is applied with understanding and empathy.

Know someone who could benefit from this? Passing it on to them would be a huge compliment.

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Struggling with fear and anxiety?

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When the mind is not confined anywhere, it is everywhere. When it is everywhere, it is in the body. When it is in the body, it is in accord with the Way.

— Takuan Sōhō

It doesn’t matter how experienced you are, there’s a master key that - if applied - will improve supercharge your paragliding skill and experience.

I’ve used this to set records. I’ve used this to help my students. And now I want to share this gift with you.

But here’s the secret.

You already have it lying latent within you since the day you were born. There is nothing new for you to add or gain.

All you need to do is remove the internal barriers to allow this process to once again flow freely through you.

Today I’ll show you how.

Natural Learning

To understand this, we need to return to a simpler time in our lives.

As children we all learnt remarkable feats of coordination; crawling, walking, throwing a ball.

On the surface these skills may seem simple as we all learn them easily, but if we were to try and explain in words every nerve firing and muscle contraction needed we quickly realise that something far more intelligent than our thinking self can take credit for is taking place.

Learning to walk requires an extraordinary amount of coordination — arguably even more than flying a paraglider — yet every child learns it easily and without verbal instruction.

How?

Through a process known as natural or implicit learning: a goal directed, non-judgmental, free-flowing connection between mind and body.

Implicit learning is the non-conscious, unintentional acquisition of knowledge, skills, or patterns through experience and environmental interaction, rather than direct instruction. It involves developing an automatic, intuitive understanding—or "feel"—for complex information, such as language rules or motor skills, without being aware of what was learned.

Implicit learning is a trial and error process of discovery through experience.

Unlike implicit learning, explicit learning involves conscious effort, intention to learn, and awareness of the information being acquired. For example, learning to drive by reading a manual is explicit, while becoming a skilled driver through feel and experience is implicit.

There are a few important things to note here.

1. Error, or failure, is a natural and needed part of the process.

2. There is no “right” way.

3. One discovers their way through experience by taking action.

When a child learns to walk they are not impeded by judgment - that was a good or bad step - and they are not confused by technical instruction trying to break down each movement of the walk.

They simply watch others, absorb all the info and try it for themselves. They feel each movement while the subconscious mind and nervous system takes note of the result forming new neural pathways when the desired outcome is reached.

All of this through experience, not thinking.

There is no “right way” to walk just as there is no “right way” to thermal. The sooner you accept and assimilate this profound truth the sooner you can start your journey of discovery.

Because skill aquisition is a process of discovery and your style of flying becomes and unique expression of your own being.

As it was when you were a child - which you may have forgotten is in fact your natural state.

Children Vs Adults

“Those damn kids.”

Many adults watch with envy as children, seemingly without effort, take naturally to new sports like surfing, skiing, or paragliding.

Children learn faster because they don’t start with preconceived ideas. They watch, imitate, and with a clear and open mind, let their body discover what works best.

Most adults, mind full of rights and wrongs, do’s and dont’s, try to learn by memorising individual actions to create one whole movement.

The approach is to look to articles, videos, instructors, or friends for a set of concepts on the “right” way. They focus on those concepts and try to intellectualise the process, looking for the way they should do it to get it “right.”

But this ‘right’ way makes our actions mechanical, cutting us off from how it truly feels.

We are no longer being led by experience but by ideas.

Our subconscious intelligence is cut off from feeling the subtleties of our actions, the thinking ego-mind blocks us from the on-the-fly flow of information needed between the mind and body to make refinements.

In paragliding, it is more important to feel where your hands are than to know where they should be.

If you’re obsessed with shoulds; how much brake should I apply?, when should I turn in the thermal?, how flat or tight should my turn be?, then you are neglecting what is.

“Should” is a concept of the way things aren’t instead of the way they are.

The good news is that there is another way. It may take a little readjustment and some unlearning of old habits. But it is simple and has been with you since you were born.

The Master Key

The key to this process of experiential learning is body awareness, or the mind-body connection.

To have to try and remember something means you don’t really know it.

But when you are aware of an experience you learn at a level much deeper than that of the conceptual mind.

Awareness is the natural learning process of the mind and body.

Paragliding is more complex than we can explain — so how can technical instructions ever be enough?

And what of the pilots that first discovered a technique before it was ever taught?

We naturally learn by discovery - by doing rather than thinking about doing.

The quality of our learning is directly proportionate to the quality of feedback we get from our direct experience. A mind active with worry, comparison or criticism, blocks the needed feedback necessary for this learning flow.

To feel the myriad subtle sensations needed to naturally learn paragliding we need to quiet this mental activity so that awareness is increased.

The more focused and relaxed the mind the more attuned and aware it becomes. The pure form of this “no-mind” awareness born from supreme focus and trust - is the flow state, or being in the zone.

Awareness is experiencing something directly while thinking is conceptualising the experience. As thinking increases, awareness decreases and we get shut-off from this natural intelligence.

But How?

By now you may be thinking, “ok, Grant, I get it...but when are you going to teach me something practical?”

The truth is, there’s nothing to teach.

I can only try and guide you to your own discoveries by pointing you in the right direction. As the Zen saying goes:

“Do not mistake the finger pointing to the moon for the moon itself.”

There is no “right” way.

There is, however, a way that is right for you that you can discover through drills and awareness practice.

This is something that all pilots can benefit from and is something I am continuously working on in my own flying. Never settle. Always be looking for ways to increase your awareness and fine tune your skills.

This is a path of continuous improvement. Of progress over perfection.

Fly Out of Your Mind

The key here is for us to increase our awareness of our brake pressure and to become aware of what effect this has on our gliders.

We want to get out of our minds and into our bodies.

When we increase our awareness of these two aspects our body-mind will naturally make the adjustments needed over time to what feels right. It does this by making micro-adjustments as it’s connected to the raw data stream experienced through direct feedback.

We don’t need to try. Trying brings in the ego-mind, which severs the connection.

To practice this start when ground handling.

Start by assigning numbers to various levels of brake pressure such as 0 for no brake and 10 for full brakes when the glider stalls.

Now while kiting call out to yourself the level of brake applied for various maneuvers; catching a surge, keeping the glider inflated, pulling the glider up for a cobra.

Notice, without judgement the effect the various levels of brake have on the wing and where your sweet spots are.

While flying, become aware of the same feeling while turning in a thermal. Apply to both inner and outer brake pressure and notice the effect it has on your turn efficiency.

Are there any differences in weak or strong lift?

Which levels feel most right?

Allow and trust your body-mind, without thinking, to follow the feeling.

Final Thoughts

Most adults fall into the trap of trying to learn through technical instructions.

Lost in our minds we try too hard, try to memorise the “right” way to do things and compare ourselves to others judging ourselves along the way.

We think that the more effort we put in and the more information we add the better.

This active-mind state blocks the free-flow of feedback needed by the body-mind to connect to the raw data-stream of experience. We place a premium on shoulds that ultimately prevent us from experiencing what is.

Yet, we all have an innate intelligence that is capable of remarkable learning. And it learns through awareness, not thinking.

Now that you’re aware of this, you can begin practicing letting go of the ego-mind’s desire to control and tune in to a process far greater than we can take credit for.

With the ego out of our way, with gratitude, we can witness and take joy in the fruits of this experience, while simultaneously, with humility, realising that we cannot take credit for the outcomes.

All we can control is our effort, the rest is out of our control.

So get out there, find the feeling, drop the judgments — and experience the joy of flying out of your mind.

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Have you ever landed after a great flight only to feel worse after discovering your wingmate flew further?

This undercurrent of comparison is common in paragliding and affects us all at some stage of the journey sometimes with devestating consequences.

If left unchecked this mind virus diminishes your ability to get into flow, lead to risky decisions, and rob you of the love you once had for this surreal thing we do.

Today, we’re diving into how these mental patterns hold you back and, more importantly, how to fly your own line, both in the air and in life.

How Comparison Steals Your Airtime (and Joy)

At its heart, paragliding is a mental dance deeply entrenched in the now – a conversation between you, your wing, and the elements around you.

Flow, that coveted state of complete absorption and effortless action, thrives in this present-moment awareness.

Comparison, however, yanks us right out of it.

When we constantly measure our progress, skills, or even our equipment against others, we shift our focus from our internal experience to external (and often arbitrary) benchmarks. This can:

• Fuel Negative Self-Talk: Unfavourable comparisons are breeding grounds for thoughts like, “I’m not good enough,” “I’ll never fly 100km,” or “Everyone else seems to progress faster.” This inner critic erodes confidence and makes learning feel like a chore rather than an adventure.

• Distort Reality: We often compare our “behind-the-scenes” struggles with someone else’s “highlight reel.” We don’t see their hours of practice, their own frustrations, or the unique conditions that might be favouring them at that moment.

• Undermine Joy: Flying should be, at its core, joyful. Comparison sucks the joy out of personal achievements because there’s always someone “better” to measure against.

• Block Flow: Crucially, flow follows focus. When your mind is occupied with judging yourself or others—an external focus—you cannot be fully present and immersed in your internal experience with the environment and your wing. This external distraction pulls you away from the sensory inputs and intuitive responses that cultivate a Flow state, which is the very essence of deeply engaged flight.

The truth is, we all have unique journeys with different starting points, learning curves, and even different definitions of what success means.

Factors like starting aptitude, mental conditioning, available flying time, local conditions, personal risk tolerance, finances, and past experiences all shape our individual paths.

Learning to remove judgement and embrace your stage of the journey is key.

When the Navigator Takes the Wheel

Finding Flow involves letting go and trusting your ‘Self 2’ – your intuitive, subconscious, being self – to do the ‘driving.’

Think of your thinking mind as the navigator: it can set the general direction or goal (e.g., “stay up,” “explore that cloud street”). But the actual nuanced art of flying, of feeling the air and responding instinctively, comes from allowing your well-trained, intuitive, being self to take the controls.

If the navigator (ego) is constantly grabbing the wheel out of fear or comparison, the journey becomes jerky, stressful, and inefficient.

Trusting your inner pilot to figure things out, based on your training and experience, is essential for a smooth, absorbed state of Flow.

“Failure”

Accepting your unique path radically changes how you view setbacks.

Instead of seeing a ‘bombed-out’ flight or a fumbled launch as a ‘failure,’ what if you reframed it as a valuable data point?

“In the growth mindset, failure can be a painful experience. But it doesn't define you. It's a problem to be faced, dealt with, and learned from.”

Carol Dweck

When things don’t go as planned, try meeting the moment with a curious “How interesting!” and look for the growth lesson.

This isn’t about dismissing frustration, but about shifting from harsh judgment to neutral observation.

Each perceived misstep provides rich information – data for you to learn from, refining your understanding and skills.

This approach echoes the Stoic idea of Amor Fati – a love of one’s fate, or trusting the process.

This philosophy encourages you to embrace all of it: the smooth soaring days and the challenging, frustrating ones, seeing them as integral and necessary parts of your unique journey.

Paragliding, like life, has its natural rhythms; there will be exhilarating highs and character-building lows. By learning to appreciate this entire spectrum of experience, seeing every flight not just as an isolated event but as a contributor to your long-term goal of mastery, the journey itself can begin to transform into an extended Flow experience.

Practical Steps to Reclaim Your Flight

Acknowledging the comparison trap is the first step.

Actively shifting your focus, cultivating trust in your intuitive self, and reframing your experiences is next. Here are a couple of practical ways to engage with this:

1. The “My Flight, My Focus” Reframe:

   • Pre-Flight Intention Setting: Before you even lay out your wing, take a moment. Acknowledge your current skill level without judgement. Then, set 1-2 personal, achievable intentions for your flight (your navigator’s role). Examples: “Today, my focus is a smooth, controlled launch,” or “I want to consciously feel the air and my wing’s feedback,” or “I’ll practice patience maxing out the lift before moving on.” Once set, consciously decide to trust your ‘driver’ to handle the execution.

   • In-Flight Pattern Interrupt (and Data Collection): When you catch yourself comparing, or that negative inner voice starts critiquing the ‘driver,’ or if something unexpected happens:

     • Take three conscious, deep breaths. Feel the air fill your lungs and release. This helps calm the ‘navigator.’

     • Mentally state: “That’s just a thought (or event), not the whole truth. How interesting! What can I learn here? Back to my air, my wing, my flight. Trust the process.”

     • Immediately shift your focus to a direct sensory input: the pressure in your brakes, the view on the horizon, the sound of the wind, the feeling of the harness. This reconnects you with your ‘driver’s’ world.

2. The “Personal Progress & Data Log” (Post-Flight Reflection):

   • After each flying session, take five minutes to reflect on these:

     • “What’s one small thing I learned or improved upon today in my paragliding journey?”

     • “What was one moment during my flight/practice that I genuinely enjoyed or felt connected to the experience?”

     • “If things didn’t go as planned (a ‘data point’), what happened? What was ‘interesting’ about it? What might I try differently or what did I learn from it?” “Was it a gift?”

     • “If a comparison thought popped up, what was it? How can I reframe it to focus on my own path and progress?”

We follow this process inside Wingmates using the PARA model - Plan, Act, Reflect, Adjust. It’s mind-blowing to see the power that group sharing and feedback is having on member progress.

Reframe Life Challenges

The challenge of comparison isn’t unique to paragliding; it’s a deeply human one. Wisdom traditions and great thinkers have long pointed towards the freedom found in focusing inward and trusting our innate capabilities:

• Theodore Roosevelt famously said, “Comparison is the thief of joy.” In a pursuit like paragliding, where joy and presence are paramount for both performance and safety, this rings especially true.

• The Stoic philosophers remind us to focus on what we can control – our own thoughts, efforts, and responses (the navigator’s true domain) – rather than external outcomes or the achievements of others. This aligns with the principle of Amor Fati (love of your fate), encouraging an acceptance and even appreciation for all experiences—highs and lows—as vital parts of your unique path to mastery.

• In Zen, the concept of “Shoshin” or “Beginner’s Mind” encourages approaching every experience with openness, eagerness, and a lack of preconceptions. When you adopt a beginner’s mind for each flight, you’re focused on learning and experiencing, not on how you stack up against a perceived expert, allowing your intuitive self more freedom.

True mastery in any field blossoms from an internal locus of control, a patient celebration of your unique progression, and a growing trust in your well-honed intuition.

The Gaggle: You’re Not Alone in This

Many pilots, from students to seasoned XC hounds, privately admit to wrestling with comparison, the sting of perceived ‘failures,’ and the challenge of ‘letting go’ to their intuitive flying.

I’ve heard variations of: “I see pilots who started after me flying further, and I feel stuck. What am I doing wrong?” Or, “I get so frustrated when I bomb out, and everyone else climbs away. I feel like I overthink it, and then beat myself up.”

If these feelings resonate, know that they are part of the landscape for many. The critical step isn’t to never have these thoughts or experiences, but to recognise them, meet them with curiosity (“How interesting!”), and gently guide your focus back to your own experience, your own learning, your own unique flight plan, and the quiet competence of your inner pilot.

Your goal isn’t to get rid of the feelings but rather to use them as a trigger, like a bell, to start your practice of awareness, acknowledgment, and letting go.

Ultimately, your paragliding journey is yours alone. The more you can appreciate your own path, learn from every flight (even the challenging ones, rich with data!), cultivate self-compassion, and trust your inner ‘driver,’ the more you’ll open yourself up to the profound sense of Flow that this incredible sport, and indeed life, offers.

Fly your own line, trust your process, embrace your unique journey, and enjoy the view from where you are.