As a kid, I was lucky to go on a lot of family vacations. Colorado, California, Florida—wherever we went, I always angled for the window seat on airplanes, eager to watch the earth disappear under me during takeoff.

I was that kid who was brought up into the cockpit to meet the pilot and copilot, marveling at all the shiny knobs and dials and levers, knowing that, one day, I wanted to be a pilot.

In those days, for me, the journey was its own reward. The best parts of those vacations were the flights there and the flights back. Yeah, there were

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