.
I was convinced I was about to revolutionize my business.
Then I discovered a small problem.
It was illegal to use it commercially.
Not illegal to own.
Not illegal to fly for fun.
But illegal to sell the footage.
Even news stations wouldn't touch it. I tried pitching aerial footage for stories, and the answer was always the same:
"Great footage… but we can't air it. It's not legally obtained."
Well that was a buzzkill.
The FAA Loophole
After digging into the rules, I discovered something interesting.
At the time, there was no Part 107 license yet.
But there was a way to legally fly drones for business.
You needed two things:
• A Sport Pilot License (yes… an actual pilot license)
• A Section 333 Exemption from the FAA
The exemption was basically writing a massive essay to the federal government explaining why you should be allowed to operate drones commercially.
But the bigger hurdle?
Flight school.
Let me paint the picture…
At this point in life I was not a 20-year-old adrenaline junkie.
I was an older mom.
A business owner.
And frankly… terrified of heights.
But if getting a pilot’s license was the only way to legally fly drones for my business…
Then I was doing it.
So I enrolled in flight school in the South Bay.
And for the first 11 hours of flight time, I was basically a pair of white knuckles sitting in an airplane.
My instructor would calmly give instructions like:
“Turn heading 240.”
Meanwhile my brain was busy doing this:
"Dear God please don't let this be the day I die."
I was shaking. Sweating. Praying.
Learning… very slowly.
Then one day something changed.
We were flying above the ocean in the South Bay, and suddenly I realized something:
It was peaceful.
Beautiful, actually.
The coastline stretched out below us. The water shimmered. The world felt quiet up there.
And for the first time I thought:
"Maybe I can actually do this."
The Solo Flight
Then came the moment every student pilot fears.
The solo flight.
One day my instructor taxied the plane off the runway, looked at me and said:
“Marci… you're ready to solo.”
I asked him if he was sure.
He said yes, got out of the plane… and left me sitting there alone.
Now here's the important detail.
My instructor was a 200-pound, six-foot-tall man.
So when I took off without him in the plane…
Something unexpected happened.
The aircraft shot up like a champagne cork.
From takeoff to 1,500 feet in seconds.
The problem?
The airport traffic pattern max altitude was 1,100 feet.
So there I was.
Way too high.
Alone.
Panicking.
Talking to myself in the cockpit like a crazy person.
"You’ve done this before. You can do this. Please don't die today."
I attempted my landing pattern… but by the final leg I was still too high.
So I did the smartest thing I could think of.
I aborted the landing.
Full throttle.
Around we go again.
Attempt #2
The second time around I was doing much better.
Lower altitude. Better alignment.
Then the infamous Hawthorne crosswinds decided to join the party.
My little light-sport trike aircraft suddenly started drifting sideways toward the hangars.
And for a moment…
I froze.
I was subconsciously waiting for my instructor to grab the controls.
But there was a problem.
He wasn't there.
So I snapped myself back to reality and said out loud:
"I'm not going to die today."
I did a quick S-turn, like you do when snowboarding.
Right turn.
Sharp correction left.
And somehow…
I landed.
It was not pretty.
But I was alive.
And on the ground.
I had never been more terrified in my entire life.
And for the record…
That day I decided one landing was enough.
The three touch-and-go landings could wait.
The Cross Country Test
Eventually I worked my way up to the biggest challenge:
The solo cross-country flight.
My route:
Hawthorne → Compton → Brackett Field in San Bernardino.
Flying over Southern California at 1,500 feet, I looked down at the 91 freeway packed with bumper-to-bumper traffic and thought:
"This view is way better."
But the real test came when I called into Brackett Field to land.
The wind had shifted.
Which meant I had to land from the opposite direction I trained on.
Fantastic.
But I did it.
And when I landed there was a welcoming committee waiting:
My high school best friend and her kids.
Her husband?
My flight instructor.
We had lunch, I flew back with a stop in Compton, and landed safely back at Hawthorne.
At that moment I realized something.
I was officially a pilot.
Why I Did It
I didn’t do it to become a pilot.
I did it because I wanted to legally fly drones for my business.
And it worked.
In 2015 I became one of the few video producers legally allowed to capture aerial footage commercially.
Then in 2016 the FAA introduced Part 107, making drone licensing much easier.
No aircraft required.
Just a written exam.
Which means I accidentally took the hardest path possible.
But honestly?
I wouldn’t change a thing.
Doing things that scare you is how you grow.
Today
These days I fly a DJI Mavic Pro for aerial production.
It’s an incredible tool for capturing cinematic footage for commercials, corporate videos, and branded storytelling.
(If you're curious what I use, here's the drone I fly today → [affiliate link])
The Takeaway
Sometimes business growth requires uncomfortable decisions.
Sometimes it means learning entirely new skills.
And sometimes…
It means conquering your fear of heights and learning to fly an airplane.
All because you wanted better drone footage.
If you ever need aerial footage for a project, I’m happy to help.
After all…
​I went to great heights to be drone-ready for my clients.