When Change Isn’t Optional, and You Fly Anyway-On a mission

By Rosie

I was 12 years old when I first knew I wanted to fly as a career. My Dad showed me a Newspaper advert from British Airways which showed a simple picture of the cockpit controls of a Boeing 747. Through the windshield it looked out to a beautiful sunrise with the simple words ‘This could be your office’. These words changed everything. From that moment onwards, aviation wasn’t just an interest. It was the plan!

I went on to join the Air Cadets where I learned you could fly for free. I was hooked! That passion led me to study Aerospace Engineering at University and here I was selected for the University Air Squadron as a pilot. However, then came the first unexpected turn. It soon transpired that my arms weren’t long enough to fulfil the pilot anthropometric requirements, and no matter how many times I was measured, I could not pass the medical. On one occasion, with some super stretching, I even managed to pass the medical but then the Medical Centre recalled me as they’d introduced pressure pads behind the shoulder blades to stop people like me ‘cheating’! The Chief Medical Officer informed me that day that I had failed the medical and there would be no further opportunity to be remeasured.

I was devastated by that decision. I had always wanted to be a pilot, and it was tough to accept that something as simple as arm length could stop that dream. So, when I graduated from University I set my sights back on British Airways. I applied, passed the initial stage and sat the aptitude tests, but then I was overtaken by events that would change the course of history.

The year was 2001. Three months after graduating I switched on the TV and watched, in disbelief, as a hijacked Airliner few into the World Trade Centre. It was a moment which changed the worId and it had an immediate impact on global aviation. UK Airlines cancelled their pilot recruitment and sponsorship schemes indefinitely. Just like that, the path I had been working towards disappeared.

That was the moment I realised the importance of having a plan B, and fortunately, I had one. As a backup I had already applied to the RAF as a Navigator (Weapons Systems Officer) - a role where the anthropometric requirements meant I could pass the medical. I still remember the relief.

On 13^th September 2001, just two days after 9/11, I received my acceptance letter from the RAF. A completely different path had just opened. Having a Plan B isn’t about being negative or expecting failure, it’s about protecting momentum when reality doesn’t follow your plan. It’s funny how life turns out sometimes because whilst becoming a pilot had been my passion, joining as a Navigator gave me something deeper… purpose. After a few years of intensive training, I ended up on the Tornado Fighter jet.

I spent many hours on Quick Reaction Alert where we were on very high readiness to respond to any threats into UK Airspace, such as hijacked Airliners, and so in a strange way life was going full circle.  I was on Squadron with Tornado pilot Helen Seymour and together we were one of the very few all-female crews.  Life on Squadron was fast-paced, high pressure and deeply rewarding. I relished it. I went on to become a highly qualified instructor and later returned to the Tornado for developmental missile firings flying with Test Pilots. Life in the RAF was, without question, my dream job! Which is why the first time my world fell apart… it hit hard.

I was made redundant when the Tornado F3 went out of Service. This came as a huge shock. Flying fast jets wasn’t just a job - it was my identity. Overnight, the uniform was gone, the structure disappeared, and the future felt alarmingly bleak. I had trained for uncertainty in the air, but not for it on the ground. At the same time, my husband was medically discharged from the Army, so we both lost our careers, our house (owned by the military), our social network and above all, our identity.

Initially, I really didn’t know what to do. How does a highly specialised Weapons Officer find a job in civvy street? There was no obvious path. But slowly, I regrouped and rebuilt and within a year I left and became Chief Ground Instructor at a major European Airline. A new mission. A new sense of purpose. Then history repeated itself. The Airline struggled, I was made redundant again, but this time with an eight-week-old baby.

That version of change hit me differently. The stakes were higher. Whilst aviation is one of the most rewarding industries to work in it can also be volatile. I needed another plan and so I spent the next 10 years working worldwide across various industries from healthcare to mining; applying principles that I learned in aviation. Skills such as communicating clearly under pressure, decision making when the stakes are high and how to operate as part of a high-performing team. At the same time, I gained an MSc in Human Factors deepening my understanding of how people perform in complex, high-risk environments.

Then three years ago I was reunited with my former wingman and Tornado pilot, Helen. She had just left the RAF as a Typhoon pilot and together we formed On A Mission. We now deliver Keynotes and workshops sharing the lessons we learned flying fast jets together and translating them into practical tools for leaders and teams to help them achieve their best work.

It was, without doubt, the best move we could have made. Because suddenly, all that disruption made sense. The redundancies. The resets. The uncertainty. They gave us real credibility when talking about pressure, decision-making, adaptability, and performance when things don’t go to plan.

Change didn’t break me, but it did force growth. And that’s the lesson I keep coming back to; you don’t need certainty to move forward, you need capability, perspective, and the courage to commit to the next mission.

Sometimes the path only becomes clear once you’ve already stepped into the unknown.