There are multiple reasons to become a certificated flight instructor (CFI).

For many the rationale is as simple as increasing the odds of landing an entry level job in aviation. The chance to build hours at someone else's expense can be appealing, even if the rate of pay most entry level instructors receive is less than awe-inspiring.

In 1991 I counted myself in that group. I became an instructor to facilitate my ascendence to an airline career more readily. The goal was to fly jets. Big jets. The kind of aircraft that would take me over the horizon quickly, perhaps to other continents.

I was motivated.

Yet, as with so many things in life, my priorities changed over time. I enjoyed being a CFI. I took pride in the role I played. The idea of being able to foster my students to reach new heights, to achieve greater self-confidence, to fly with safety in mind just grabbed me. What I'd considered an entry level stepping stone became my career.

Thank goodness. I'm eternally thankful I stayed where I started out. It's been a great run.

Occasionally, I come across a former student on social media or by happenstance when we bump into each other somewhere or other. Recently, I was reintroduced to James, an instrument student I flew with just a few times back in the early 1990s.

James earned his private pilot certificate while working full-time at a grocery store. He was cash-flowing his training as I recall it, which caused his lessons to be somewhat infrequent at times. That's understandable. Most of us don't have oodles of flight training cash laying around when the kids are small, the mortgage is new, and our family responsibilities are considerable. James was making it happen, though. He was motivated, too. Like me, James wanted to fly jets.

There were three CFIs at our small flight school. Brad was the senior man, although he was just 25 years old. Todd was rising fast in the rankings. I was the new guy.

I actually got the job because of a recommendation Todd made on my behalf. We'd done our training at the same flight school. And although we weren't close friends there, we knew each other. When an opening came up at the school where he'd gotten his first flying job, he let me know about it and assured the owner I was a worthy candidate.

If I ever needed validation that relationship building and networking were important skills to acquire, that experience did it. Had it not been for my attitude at flight school and my attempts to keep in touch with classmates well before the Internet was a thing for most of us, my whole career path might have been very different. It might not have even happened.

You have to keep in mind that in the early 1990s there were a number of airlines that had either gone bankrupt or were flirting with the possibility. That put a whole lot of highly experienced airline pilots into the job market at a time when the market was very, very tight.

When a new CFI with 300-ish hours total time goes into an interview matched up against a CFI with heavy jet experience, the new arrival in the business tends to become well acquainted with the concept of rejection.

I was lucky to be working and I knew it. The environment was very different than the one new pilots are blessed with today.

James was working on his instrument ticket with Brad, our No. 1 instructor. He was making good progress. Then Brad was involved in a fatal crash. He and his passenger were killed. It was a horrible accident that left a pall over the entire airport community. As a result, James was assigned to me to complete his training.

As I review my logbook for that period of time, I see we only flew together a handful of times, but I vividly remember our time together. We worked on timed turns and compass turns -- concepts that James struggled with as a relatively new pilot with limited experience. But he was diligent. He worked hard. By confronting issues with an unfailingly positive attitude, he got the hang of when the compass would lead and when it would lag pretty quickly.

He was a good pilot who was improving by the day.

One of my favorite memories of flying with James involved flying the ILS 5 procedure into Lakeland Linder (KLAL) in central Florida. James had the controls as Tampa Approach turned us over to Lakeland Tower. The tower gave us missed approach instructions to turn left to a heading of 180°. An odd request since turning right only involved a 130° turn, while turning left would require an additional 100° of heading change.

James flew the approach well down to the missed approach point. He called that he was going missed and began his left turn. Immediately the tower called back, "Right turn, right turn, 1528X."

James, being a bit befuddled, depressed the push to talk button and asked, "When the hell did he change that?" His comment was meant for me, but everyone on the frequency heard it.

I expected to get reamed by the controller when we came back for another go. To my great relief he'd checked the tapes while we were repositioning for another attempt, realized the mistake was his, and actually apologized to us. That guy was a total pro.

I haven't spoken to James in decades. We went our own way, as CFIs and students often do. But I came across him on social media recently. He was at the controls of a twin-engine jet. He's got four stripes on his sleeve these days. A quick review of his travels shows him in England, Austria, and Mexico. He is what he hoped to be. What he worked so hard to be. I couldn't be happier for him.

While I can't take credit for James reaching his ultimate goal, I do find myself being pleased to have played a minor role in the process. As with so many former students, I find real joy in seeing how well they've done and how far they've taken their dreams.

We may never meet again, James and I. The world is a big place, after all. But there is a piece of me that is very glad I maintained my role in the right seat as a CFI. The success of my students feels like a success for me, too. And that's a pretty darned good feeling.