And the people who master it? They walk away. Then they walk back to the hangar, run a hand along the fuselage, and whisper to the empty cockpit:
We crave touchdowns. We post the arrival selfie. We announce the deal closed, the degree earned, the diagnosis beaten. But the dangerous place is never the storm. It is the edge of the clearing, where relief makes us stupid. safe landings
“Next time, we do it even softer.”