Skyfaring: A Journey with a Pilot by Mark Vanhoenacker • My insights

The context before we get to the book

I made a lot of new friends this year, but meeting Charlotte on the last night of Glastonbury festival would unexpectedly change my relationship with both flying and reading. We danced and talked that night, but it wasn’t until we met again in London that I discovered she was a writer with a deep love for reading.
This revelation struck a chord with me. You see, until recently, I didn’t think I could read books for pleasure. Yes, I’d read many throughout my career in product management – necessity had demanded it – but reading for joy? That seemed beyond me.
When I met Charlotte again after returning from Burning Man, I had a story that would change everything. I told her about “Plain Dave,” a carpenter who had offered two of my friends and me seats in his four-seater plane in the Nevada desert. After takeoff, he turned to me with an unexpected question: “Wanna hold the yoke?”
I hesitated. But this is the year of saying “yes” to everything, so I reached for the control yoke in front of me. Then came the words that would bring me to tears a few moments later: “You have the flight controls.”
For twenty minutes, I flew that plane. Dave kept saying “You’re a natural! I can’t believe you’ve never flown before” while guiding me with directions and altitude adjustments. Behind my sunglasses, I was crying – tears connecting me to my eight-year-old self who had dreamed of becoming a pilot. That dream had been grounded by a hundreds of ear infections and my parents’ practical concerns, despite my aunt’s encouragement from her position as an Air France flight attendant.
When I shared this story with Charlotte, her eyes lit up. She immediately recommended a book that she said had transformed her from someone afraid of flying into an aviation nerd. That book was Skyfaring, and it would become my gateway into leisure reading.

My journey through the book

Lift

Reading this opening chapter, I found myself back in Plain Dave’s cockpit, understanding even more why that experience had moved me. Like Mark Vanhoenacker, I was connecting with something deeper than just the mechanical act of flying.

Mark blends personal memories with vivid imagery of the sky. He recalls his fascination with airplanes from childhood and the influence of his parents, particularly his father’s love for aircraft and his mother’s appreciation for travel’s romance. Flying is portrayed as both a solitary escape and a means of connection, where the vastness of the earth and sky bring moments of introspection.

Through poetic descriptions of cities and landscapes from above, he conveys the magic and freedom of air travel, inviting us to see flight as a beautiful, transformative experience. We can feel the passion of flying experienced by Mark and the emotions how he describes it, I thought this was a great way to start the book as it builds up this connection we may have or not have yet.

Place

In the second chapter Place, Vanhoenacker reflects on the phenomenon of place lag — the disorientation caused by moving quickly between vastly different places. Recalling memories from his youth and moments in the cockpit, he explores how flying across continents compresses both time and space, creating a unique experience of distance. The author describes how each destination feels almost dreamlike, especially when traveling across unfamiliar regions like deserts or oceans, where vastness reinforces the earth’s emptiness.

This concept of “place lag” resonated deeply with my years of traveling. The first time I experience this “place lag” was when I was in the car with my Mum on the Promenade des Anglais in Nice. She had just picked me up from the airport from my flight from London. It was Christmas time. I left London a few hours earlier and it was cold and grey. And here I was: in Nice. The air was warmer and the light was bright with sunset hues painting the sky. I was amazed looking through the window roof of the car by how many palm trees there were on this road. A road I probably took a billion times in my life.

How many times had I woken up wondering not just what time it was, but where exactly I was in the world? I remember waking up in the middle of the night surrounded of jungle sounds in a tiny village of Lombok. I thought I was still in Europe and didn’t understand, even if I had been traveling for 6 months already.

Mark portrays air travel as a journey through multiple geographies and cultures, often disjointed from traditional experiences of place. Through poetic insights, Mark captures both the beauty and surreal nature of viewing the world from above, emphasizing how flight allows him to connect with places that otherwise seem worlds apart. There really is a feeling of traveling when reading the chapter and that feeling makes us understand how big and small / how different and similar our planet Earth is.

Wayfinding

The third chapter, Wayfinding, describes the intricate systems that help pilots navigate the vast, invisible “countries” of the sky. He reflects on the standardization of aviation time and language and explains the aviation regions across the world, where skies are segmented by unique borders and even poetic names. Pilots rely on waypoints, beacons, and inertial navigation systems, all designed to map out the sky with precision, even without external references.

As someone who works in technology, I found myself drawing parallels between these aviation systems and the digital architectures we build. Both require precise coordination, redundancy, and an elegant marriage of human and machine intelligence.

With the use of elegant wordings, Mark brings a sense of wonder to these systems, connecting modern navigation with ancient methods, and likening waypoints to markers of place in a boundless, shifting landscape. The chapter celebrates the beauty and complexity of orienting oneself across the ever-moving, vast expanses of the sky. I felt overwhelmed with the number of acronyms Mark listed in this chapter. I am not sure if this was his intention. I was also mesmerised learning about the history behind navigation.

Machine

This chapter reflects on the author’s lifelong fascination with aircraft and explores the intricate relationship between pilots and the machinery they operate. He recounts his first flying lesson, where he felt the thrill of crossing into the pilot’s domain. Through his career, he has come to appreciate both the technical marvel and the humanity infused in aircraft design—from the power of engines to the precision required in every switch and dial.

His visit to an Airbus factory highlights the beauty and complexity of airplane construction, where each part and design decision contributes to the machine’s grace and resilience. This chapter celebrates the machine as an art form, revealing the blend of engineering brilliance, elegance, and reverence that flight demands. Technology is something that fascinates me too and that’s probably why I’ve worked on so close to it.

Air

In the chapter titled Air, Vanhoenacker delves into the often-overlooked essence of air, exploring its physical and metaphysical qualities. He reflects on how air, though seemingly invisible and intangible, is as substantive as water, pressing down upon us with significant weight. Through poetic musings, he describes the ways in which pilots perceive and interact with air, revealing its importance in navigation, altitude, and speed.

Our author marvels at the sensory and scientific complexities of flight—how air currents and jet streams shape routes, how air pressure and temperature vary with altitude, and how air acts as an unseen force that pilots navigate with precision. He likens flying to navigating a vast, unseen ocean, where every gust and wisp of air is both a guide and a reminder of our connectedness to the natural world. Mark, our beloved author who’s little by little morphing from pilot to alchemist, transforms air from an abstract concept into a powerful, sustaining medium that pilots learn to understand and respect deeply. After all, if a plane flies, it’s because air carries it, isn’t it?

Water

Our favourite pilot does it again in Water chapter. Instead of air, he meditates this time on water’s omnipresence and its impact on flight. He describes flying over oceans, lakes at night, rivers, and clouds, highlighting how pilots, despite operating in air, are constantly interacting with water in various forms—clouds, storms, and the bodies of water below. Mark, our pilot alchemist, contemplates water’s three states and its role in shaping landscapes and flight patterns, bringing a poetic touch to this fundamental element. Through vivid imagery, he captures the serenity and majesty of viewing Earth’s hydrosphere from above, celebrating the connection between sky and sea that defines the experience of long-haul flights. This really reminded me of that time when I looked at the window when going from London to New York and I could see tiny weird dots when looking outside on the ocean and these were blocks of ice. I have no doubt about why flying over Greenland is one of Mark’s favourite routes.

Encounters

In Encounters, we reflect on the meaningful, fleeting connections that define the aviation world. Through the author’s stories about fellow crew members, passengers, and colleagues, we understand how shared experiences in flight often create unique bonds. One particularly heartwarming story describes an American pilot reaching out over the public radio frequency 123.45 to a French pilot nearby in the sky to say hello to his wife, who was on the French pilot’s plane. In a rare, beautiful twist, the wife was brought to the cockpit to respond back to her husband, briefly bridging the gap between work and personal life in the skies.

This story resonates deeply with my own first encounter with the aviation community. I was just five years old, flying alone from Nice to Paris to visit my aunt Pascale and my little cousins for a trip to Disneyland. Despite my excitement about the destination, I was gripped by fear about the flight itself. Endless questions tumbled from my mouth to my father before boarding: “How does it fly? What happens if there’s a jet engine that stops working? What happens if the other ones stop working too?” Looking back, I wonder if my mother’s own anxieties had unconsciously shaped my fears.

But what I remember most vividly isn’t the fear – it’s the extraordinary care I received from the moment my parents left me at the airport until my aunt, resplendent in her Air France uniform, greeted me at the aircraft door. During the flight, flight attendants took turns checking on me, and even one of the pilots came to chat, perhaps sensing my earlier nervousness. Without realizing it then, I was experiencing firsthand the sense of community that Vanhoenacker describes so eloquently in this chapter. These weren’t just employees doing their jobs; they were members of a global family united by their love of flight, their dedication to their profession, and their genuine desire to care for others – even a nervous five-year-old dreaming of Disneyland.

This chapter beautifully captures how the aviation world creates its own kind of intimacy – whether it’s pilots crossing paths in the vast sky or crew members watching over a young passenger’s first solo flight. It’s a reminder that behind the technical marvel of flight lies a deeply human enterprise, powered by millions of people who, through their shared passion for aviation, create moments of connection and care that can last a lifetime.

Night

Mark reflects on the beauty and depth of night flying, touching on themes of time, light, and loss. I loved learning about the term “Wilco,” short for “Will comply,” a pilot’s language, I might use it myself in the future. In this chapter, Mark also shares a poignant memory of his father’s passing, adding a layer of vulnerability and introspection to his narrative, viewing the earth’s lights below as if they represent a distant yet connected world.

Reading the words through the chapter, I marveled at how city lights resemble neural networks as he describes them in one paragraph. This made me draw a parallel between the universe’s vastness and the microcosmic complexity within. To Mark, I feel that these lights are more than mere illumination; they symbolize humanity’s connectedness, from galaxies to neurons. Once again, this is another chapter where the tone gracefully intertwines the technical with the poetic, highlighting the profound stillness and shared experiences that night flights offer. What a book!

Return

In the final chapter, Return, the author explores themes of home, memory, and belonging, capturing the essence of what it means to come back after a journey. It celebrates the beauty of return—not just as an end to travel but as a way to renew our perspective on the places we visit and the concept of home itself. His reflections resonate deeply with me, especially as he questions the nature of home – whether it is a physical place, the memories tied to it, or the people who make us feel we belong. I just “came back” from a year of traveling the world. I didn’t feel at home before, so I left the UK. I didn’t feel at home when I was traveling, so I kept moving around. And now that I’m back in Europe, in my hometown, I still don’t feel at home. This chapter has prompted me to reflect on what “home” really means to me.

I also loved how the author describes the experience of watching a plane’s shadow on the ground during descent. It brought back a vivid memory of my own, landing in Kuala Lumpur exactly 11 months ago during a stopover to Sydney. I remember seeing a sudden dark spot on the scenery that caught my eye. At first, it didn’t make sense, but as the plane got closer to the ground, I realized it was our shadow. Watching it grow larger as we approached the earth felt like a beautiful reunion. It made me smile and laugh at how amused and fascinated I was by something so simple. Maybe Mark felt that too when it happened to him. Maybe “home” is that simple: our own shadow.

Like our own shadow — a place we return to but never truly leave. It follows us, constant yet ever-changing, shaped by where we stand in the world. Home might not be a physical place at all, but life itself: a journey into the deeper aspects of self-awareness, identity, and the human experience. It’s the familiar sense of belonging we carry within, no matter where we are or how far we travel. Like the shadow growing larger as the plane descends, home reveals itself as we draw closer to understanding that it’s not the destination but the act of living—of being present—that truly defines it.

Conclusion

This was more than just a beautiful book about flying airplanes - it was a meditation on human connection, technology, and our place in the vastness of both earth and sky. Through Mark’s eloquent prose, we don’t just learn about the technical aspects of aviation; we’re invited to see the world through a pilot’s eyes, where the ordinary becomes extraordinary and the mundane transforms into poetry.

What struck me most was how Vanhoenacker weaves together the technical and the philosophical. He shows us that flying isn’t just about understanding weather patterns, navigation systems, or aircraft mechanics - it’s about understanding our relationship with space, time, and each other. Through his experiences, we learn that a pilot’s journey is as much internal as it is external, as much about emotional navigation as it is about geographical wayfinding.

The book resonated deeply with my own journey of discovery this year. Like the author’s descriptions of place-lag and his contemplations on the nature of home, my own experiences of traveling the world have led me to question what it means to belong, to be grounded while constantly in motion.

Perhaps that’s the true gift of “Skyfaring” - it reminds us that in an age where air travel has become commonplace, there’s still room for wonder. Whether we’re pilots, frequent flyers, or occasional travelers, the sky continues to hold mysteries and meanings that extend far beyond the mere act of getting from point A to point B. Through Mark’s eyes, we’re reminded that every takeoff is a small miracle, every landing a return to ourselves, and every journey through the air a testament to human ingenuity and dreams.

Like those city lights that Mark describes as resembling neural networks when viewed from above, this book connects dots we might never have seen otherwise - between earth and sky, between technical precision and poetic observation, between the physical act of flying and the metaphysical experience of travel. It’s a reminder that sometimes we need to rise above our everyday perspective to truly understand our place in the world.