Soaring Through Disquiet: My Flight Towards Relief With FPV Drones
In my ongoing endeavor to manage the specters of PTSD and chronic pain, I stumbled upon an unlikely ally—First Person View (FPV) drone flying. It began innocuously with a simple foray into the world of camera drones, my hands steering the compact DJI Mini 3 Pro across the skies. The allure of the aerial perspective was merely the tip of the iceberg. The transition to DJI's FPV model and subsequently, their Avata, was a gradual deep dive into a realm that promised not just aerial vistas but a respite from my earthly afflictions.
The leap from standard drones to custom-built FPV quadcopters, endearingly called "quads," marked the onset of a journey both therapeutic and enlightening. As I delved into the nitty-gritty of building, soldering, and repairing FPV quads, a new world of possibilities unfolded before me. Each component meticulously assembled, every soldering joint a testament to the blend of patience, precision, and knowledge acquired over time.
Slipping on the FPV goggles, arming the quad, and sending it into the vast skies, I found myself transported into a different reality. The immersive experience hijacked my senses, funneling my focus into the tethered airborne marvel. The stark demands of piloting these quads allowed for little else to occupy my mental space. Each flight was a ballet of precise maneuvers demanding unwavering attention, lest a misstep lead to a costly tumble from the skies—a dance where a slight misstep could equate to a hefty price tag ranging from $100 and all the way to $1000 in damages!
The learning curve was steep, the path laden with numerous hours spent in simulators, fine-tuning the art of FPV flying. The initial investment might be daunting; the cost of FPV gear, coupled with the inevitable crashes, did weigh heavily on the wallet. However, the knowledge acquired through building and repairing quads, and the muscle memory developed so as to become a better pilot, served as a financial cushion, trimming down the expenses significantly as I crashed less often and when I did, I was often able to repair the damaged quad myself.
The crux of this journey was the elusive state of "flow" achieved while commandeering the quads through the skies. The essence of flow—being utterly absorbed in the task at hand, where the world and its cacophony of worries fade into the background—was vividly experienced in each flight. The acute concentration required to pilot FPV drones ushered in a state of mind where the shackles of PTSD and the gnaw of chronic pain momentarily loosened their grip. Indeed, the current battery technology allows this state of flow to last between 3 and 10 minutes. In most cases I have multiple batteries and even after I’m done flying for the day, I swear I still feel the endorphins flowing freely though my system. One time I returned home from flying and my wife said, “what?” I was confused at first but then realized I had a giant smile on my face for no apparent reason that she could see. I felt a little weird but as a guy who lives in a very un-fun and un-funny body, I’ll take the random silly smile when I can get it.
The marriage of technology with the primal thrill of flight brought forth a unique therapy. The rhythm of propellers slicing through the air, the whirl of motors, and the serene detachment from worldly concerns was a balm on the festering wounds of anxiety and physical discomfort.
FPV flying isn't merely a hobby; it's a dive into a reality where the reins are firmly in your hands, a reality that lends a semblance of control in a life often mired by the unpredictability of PTSD and chronic pain. It's a testament to how the embrace of technology and a dash of adventurous spirit can craft a haven amidst the tumult of life’s storms.
