Vox Meditantis

Harbour Grace, Newfoundland, Canada – 29th April 1932

I wake at dawn and immediately stretch my cramped shoulders—yesterday’s three-hour flight in the cockpit has left its mark. The mirror shows the toll: wind-burned cheeks, tired eyes that have stared too long into vast skies. But my body is my aircraft’s most crucial instrument, and like any pilot worth her wings, I maintain it religiously.

The floorboards creak beneath my bare feet as I begin my morning routine. Five minutes of deep breathing first—a practice I’ve cultivated since my early days of flying, when the terror of those first solo flights threatened to overwhelm me entirely. I inhale slowly, counting to four, hold for four, exhale for six. The rhythm steadies my heart, clears the fog of sleep, prepares my mind for the day’s demands.

My bedroom overlooks the airfield where my beloved Lockheed Vega awaits. In three weeks, I’ll attempt what no woman has done before—fly solo across the Atlantic. The very thought sends electricity through my veins, part exhilaration, part pure fear. But fear, I’ve learned, is simply another instrument to be calibrated, another variable to be managed through careful preparation.

I drop to the floor for my morning exercises. Fifty press-ups first—my arms must be strong enough to wrestle the controls during hours of turbulence over the Atlantic’s unforgiving waters. The wooden floor is cold against my palms, but I relish the discomfort. Aviation has taught me that comfort is luxury I cannot afford. Every muscle fibre must be conditioned for the extraordinary demands ahead.

Sit-ups follow—one hundred of them. My core strength will determine whether I can maintain proper posture during the cramped, agonising hours in the cockpit. As I count off each repetition, I visualise myself at the controls, back straight despite fatigue, hands steady on the stick even as my shoulders scream for relief.

The exercises conclude with stretching—deliberate, methodical movements that preserve the flexibility essential for managing controls in the confined space of an aircraft. I’ve seen too many pilots develop chronic pain from neglecting their bodies, treating themselves as mere afterthoughts to their machines. I refuse such carelessness.

In the kitchen, I prepare my breakfast with the same precision I apply to flight planning. Porridge with fresh milk, two eggs, toast with honey—fuel for the day ahead. I’ve learnt that nutrition isn’t mere sustenance; it’s strategy. During long flights, my body must draw upon reserves built through weeks of careful eating. Sugar provides quick energy, but protein sustains endurance. Fats support the nervous system during stress.

I measure each portion deliberately. Too little food and I’ll lack energy for training; too much and I’ll feel sluggish in the cockpit. Aviation demands mathematical precision in all things, including the fuel I provide my own engine.

As I eat, I review my notes on high-altitude nutrition. During the Atlantic crossing, I’ll carry malted milk tablets, chocolate, and tomato juice—foods that won’t spoil and can be consumed easily whilst managing the controls. I’ve tested each item during practice flights, noting how my body responds to different combinations. Nothing will be left to chance.

The morning papers arrive with headlines speculating about my upcoming attempt. “Lady Lindy Prepares for Death-Defying Flight,” screams one particularly sensational headline. I fold the paper calmly, though my jaw tightens. The press seems unable to discuss my aviation without emphasising either my gender or the danger involved. Both are facts, certainly, but they miss the methodical preparation that makes such flights possible.

By eight o’clock, I’m at the airfield for my daily training flight. The Vega gleams in the morning sun, her red paint brilliant against the grey hangar. I perform my pre-flight inspection with religious devotion—checking every surface, testing every control, examining every bolt and wire. My life depends on this machine, but more importantly, the machine depends on my careful attention to maintain her.

The cockpit embraces me like a familiar friend as I settle into the seat. Here, surrounded by instruments and gauges, I feel most myself. But comfort breeds complacency, and complacency kills pilots. I review each instrument, testing my reflexes, ensuring my responses remain sharp.

Today’s flight focuses on navigation under stress. I’ve asked my mechanic to create simulated emergencies during the flight—oil pressure drops, compass malfunctions, radio failures. Each crisis demands not only technical skill but absolute mental discipline. Panic is a luxury I cannot afford above the Atlantic’s grey expanse.

As the engine roars to life, I feel the familiar surge of adrenaline. This never diminishes, no matter how many flights I complete. But I’ve learned to channel this energy constructively rather than fight it. The heightened awareness, the sharp focus—these are gifts that fear provides when properly managed.

We climb into the morning sky, and I begin my mental exercises. Navigation calculations occupy the conscious mind, but deeper preparation occurs beneath the surface. I visualise the Atlantic crossing—every hour planned, every contingency considered. Mental rehearsal has become as crucial as physical training. When exhaustion clouds my thinking during the actual flight, muscle memory and prepared responses must guide me home.

Two hours later, I return to earth feeling both exhilarated and drained. The simulated emergencies tested not only my flying skills but my ability to maintain calm under pressure. Each scenario revealed weaknesses to address, techniques to refine. Perfection may be impossible, but the pursuit of it saves lives.

Lunch consists of a light salad and soup—enough to sustain energy without creating the lethargy that follows heavy meals. I’ve learned to eat like an athlete in training, which, in many ways, I am. The Atlantic crossing will demand physical endurance comparable to any sporting endeavour, with the added complication that failure means death rather than merely defeat.

The afternoon brings unwelcome visitors—reporters seeking quotes about my upcoming flight. I receive them in my study, projecting confidence whilst inwardly calculating how much energy these interactions drain from my preparation. Public relations, unfortunately, prove as essential as flight training for maintaining the financial support necessary for such expensive endeavours.

“Miss Earhart,” asks a young man with eager eyes, “aren’t you frightened by the dangers ahead?”

I choose my words carefully. “Fear is a natural response to genuine danger. But fear managed through preparation becomes respect for the challenges involved rather than paralysing terror.”

The truth is more complex. Terror visits me in quiet moments—sudden visions of engine failure over dark waters, of losing my way in Atlantic storms, of simply vanishing without trace as others have done. But I’ve developed strategies for managing these moments. When anxiety threatens to overwhelm, I return to concrete actions: reviewing navigation charts, checking equipment, practising emergency procedures. Action defeats paralysis every time.

After the reporters leave, I spend an hour in my workshop, maintaining my equipment. Working with my hands calms my mind in ways that mere rest cannot achieve. Each tool cleaned and organised, each spare part inventoried and secured—these mundane tasks create psychological anchors during stressful preparation periods.

The physical work also maintains the hand strength and dexterity essential for aviation. Delicate work with small tools keeps my fingers nimble for instrument adjustments during flight. Nothing in my life exists without purpose towards the greater goal.

Evening brings time for reflection as I walk through the garden behind my home. In just three weeks, I’ll attempt something that may define not only my career but my entire existence. At thirty-four years of age, I’m no longer driven by youthful bravado but by the quiet force of conviction built over years of effort, discipline, and setbacks. Every step I’ve taken has led to this threshold—one final push toward a dream that once seemed impossible.

The weight of expectation presses down like heavy weather. I represent more than myself now—every woman who dreams of breaking barriers depends partly on my success or failure. This responsibility could crush me if I dwelt upon it constantly. Instead, I focus on the controllable elements: my preparation, my skills, my equipment, my planning.

As darkness settles over the airfield, I perform my evening routine with the same deliberation as my morning exercises. A warm bath soothes muscles strained by the day’s training. I’ve learned that recovery is as crucial as exertion—the body must repair itself each night to handle the next day’s demands.

I review my charts one final time before sleep, tracing the route across the Atlantic with my finger. Harbour Grace to Londonderry—over two thousand miles of ocean with nothing but my skills and preparation standing between success and disaster. The mathematics of fuel consumption, wind speed, and navigation create a complex puzzle that must be solved perfectly.

My dinner consists of lean meat, vegetables, and milk—protein for muscle recovery, nutrients for sustained energy. I eat slowly, mindfully, treating this meal as another component of my preparation rather than mere necessity.

Before bed, I spend twenty minutes in meditation—a practice that would seem strange to most people but has become essential to my well-being. Sitting quietly, focusing on breath, allowing the day’s tensions to dissolve prepares my mind for restorative sleep. Aviation demands peak mental performance, and peak performance requires genuine rest.

As I settle into bed, I reflect on the question that drives everything I do: what strategies maintain my health and well-being whilst pursuing dreams that others consider impossible?

The answer lies not in any single practice but in the integration of all elements—physical conditioning, mental preparation, nutritional discipline, emotional regulation, and spiritual grounding. Each supports the others, creating a foundation strong enough to support extraordinary ambitions.

My body must be an instrument worthy of the challenges I’ll face. My mind must remain clear under pressure that would break untrained spirits. My emotions must serve rather than control me. My preparation must anticipate contingencies that cannot be predicted.

But beyond these practical considerations lies something deeper—a sense of purpose that transcends personal achievement. I fly not merely for myself but for every woman who has been told that certain dreams lie beyond her reach. This responsibility could become overwhelming burden or inspiring strength. I choose strength.

Tomorrow will bring another day of preparation—more training flights, more physical conditioning, more mental rehearsal. Each day builds upon the last, creating capabilities that didn’t exist before. The Atlantic crossing approaches with mathematical certainty, but I face it with methodical confidence rather than reckless bravery.

Sleep comes gradually as I release the day’s tensions and trust in my preparation. In dreams, I already fly over dark waters towards distant shores, guided by stars and sustained by disciplines learned through countless hours of dedicated practice.

The strategies that maintain my health and well-being are ultimately strategies for pursuing the impossible whilst remaining grounded in practical reality. They transform dream into achievable goal, fear into focused energy, and individual ambition into service to something greater than myself.

This is how I prepare to touch the sky whilst keeping my feet firmly planted on solid ground.

The End

On 21st May 1932, Amelia Earhart became the first woman to complete a solo transatlantic flight, covering 2,026 miles from Harbour Grace, Newfoundland, to Londonderry, Northern Ireland, in 14 hours and 56 minutes. This historic achievement came four years after her 1928 passenger crossing and five years after Charles Lindbergh’s pioneering solo flight. Earhart’s success earned her international acclaim, numerous awards—including the Distinguished Flying Cross—and endorsement deals that brought her both financial independence and public influence.

Her triumph not only cemented her place in aviation history but also inspired a generation of women to defy the limits imposed on them. By demonstrating that courage, preparation, and discipline transcended gender, she challenged prevailing attitudes about women’s roles in high-risk professions.

This story is published on 24th July—Amelia Earhart’s birthday—as a tribute to the extraordinary woman whose legacy continues to inspire aviators, adventurers, and advocates of gender equality around the world. Though she disappeared in 1937 during her attempt to circumnavigate the globe, her pioneering spirit endures.

Photo credit: r/ColorizedHistory

Bob Lynn | © 2025 Vox Meditantis. All rights reserved.