Don't Call Me Pilot

One day after a nice cross country flight I landed right next to two guys weeding on a turf farm. I noticed myself saying that we evolved from parachutes. I noticed that the "we" here had meant man and wing, together. A symbiosis. An interesting thing about paragliders is that the so called pilot is much more than just the pilot. He/she is a vital part of the very functioning of the glider. Without your weight your wing will not only be out of control but it won't even fly at all. A paraglider canopy turns into a bag of washing fluttering in the breeze without our weight to pull it into shape against the air. It's not a wing without you. Only with your weight can it be more than a pile of cloth and string. A normal aircraft will still fly without the pilot (all be it without control) We form an essential functioning part of the glider itself and are not merely it's pilot. We don't have to pretend to be one of the big boys by calling ourselves pilots. What we do is so much more magical. In fact it is probably more correct to call oneself a paraglider rather than a pilot. Someone that surfs is a surfer, Someone that sails is a sailor. Why do we have this ego thing to try to big note ourselves by likening ourselves to those that simply control the trajectory a mass of metal thru the air. I sometimes feel like the canopy and harness are part of my clothing. Clothes that I wear when I go paragliding. When I land I take off my outer layers of flying clothes, put them in a bag on my back and hitch hike back to my car. When I'm sitting under a cloud (literally) looking at my options for heading on to the next cloud etc. it is me that is flying. I'm a paraglider not just a pilot. Sitting under a cloud letting the subconscious work on the sky. What looks good? What looks best? OK head off. Now there's time to look around and let the magnitude of my situation soak in. Hanging in a comfortable chair from a skyhook. It is me that is floating thru the sky. There's nothing between me and the planet but the soles of my boots and a kilometer or two of air. In tune with nature.  With just a big handkerchief and a pile of string we harness the power of the sun to explore the sky. We're not flying just by the feelings that come thru the seat of the pants. It is our whole body that is feeling the air as it wafts past our body and canopy. I'm like a spider in a web, the myriad of lines feed me detailed information as to what the air is doing in the ten or eleven metres of air that my fabric extremities are feeling. Don't call me pilot, it is me that is doing the flying.