Breathing in The Sky: A Global Prestige Air Adventure

I had never flown in anything like it before—a gyrocopter, light as a dragonfly, its blades slicing the morning air. When the engine whirred to life and the wheels bumped over the grass of the Hana field, my heart clattered against my ribs. For a moment, I thought about backing out, but I trusted the crew completely. When the skids lifted, the earth slipped its hold. Like that, we were flying.

The air met us in a rush, cool and clean, brushing against my cheeks and tangling my hair. I breathed it all in, the fresh air that smelled of salt and iron, and something sweet I couldn’t place, maybe the flowering trees below. The ground fell away fast: green hills folding into one another like velvet, waterfalls stitching their bright threads down the cliff sides. Even the ocean seemed different from above: clearer, deeper, endless.

Every sense sharpened. I could feel the engine’s hum vibrate up through my seat, could see flecks of white foam spinning off the waves far below. I gripped the sides at first, knuckles pale, but little by little, the fear that had cinched itself tight inside me began to unravel.

We banked gently left, and I laughed, deeply and genuinely. The sound was snatched up by the wind and carried away over the hills and through the clouds. I let it go. I let everything go. I didn’t think about anything practical up there—not what waited for me on the ground, not what I should or shouldn’t be feeling. There was only the now: the sun on my skin, the blue on blue of sky and sea, the thrum of life beating faster in my chest.

At one point, as we flew over the waterfalls of East Maui, I imagined the mist kissing my arms, cool and clean. I closed my eyes for just a second and thought: remember this. Remember this feeling.

When we touched down again, the ground felt strangely unfamiliar, almost too heavy. I climbed out of the gyrocopter on wobbly legs, grinning like I had borrowed the sun’s own joy. My husband was waiting for me. My cheeks ached from smiling. I felt raw and alive, as if the flight had scrubbed me clean inside.

It would have been easy to call it a once-in-a-lifetime adventure, a story to tell over dinners and drinks. But it was more than that. I think of that moment now when my days get heavy. When I forget to be kind or hold tension too long. That gyrocopter didn’t just lift me above the island—it lifted me out of myself, out of the routines that can distract a person. I came down smiling. And weeks later, I was still smiling. Softer with my husband. Lighter in my body. Less caught in the sticky parts of life.

The sky opened something in me. The air rushed in, fresh and clean and full of light, filling every corner that had gone dim with the weight of everyday life.

Up there, in the rush of wind and wide blue, I stopped holding on so tightly. I embraced the moment as it unfolded—not thinking, not planning, just being—and let life move through me like a current. I smiled without effort. I laughed without reason. I let go of the old hesitations and worries, the invisible anchors I hadn’t noticed dragging behind me.

For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t trying to steer. I was simply light, free, and new again.

Interview and article by E. Shenher, of K.H. Bickell Literary