Flying Away from the Sun

For someone who is both terrified by and deeply soothed by water (not to mention a painfully inexperienced flyer), banking out over the Pacific Ocean in a 737 would be an emotional experience. That's why I blink back tears as I fly away from San Diego...right?

We wait forever to be "all grown up." On Sun Country flight 404, July 24, 2006, I realize: it's happened. Amanda has not only gotten married, but is getting divorced. Shelly finished college and has embarked on her new life out in San Diego. Trent is a senior at UW-Stout planning on being a music exec in Europe. These days, we discuss our dad's illness and what that future brings for our mother and ourselves. We recall room-sharing and teenage stunts and long-kept secrets. Everything I thought I wanted, everything I thought grown ups did, I achieved - but it never "clicked." We did it. We're all grown up.

And I sit here mystified.

Advertised in my in-flight magazine there is a bracelet that reads, "Nothing is worth more than this day." I couldn't agree more. Nothing is worth more than lunch with my brother on his birthday. Nothing is worth more than having the resources to go be with my sister, even if only for three days. Nothing is worth more than having a home, a family, and a circle of friends (like crazies Jeaz, Zatch, & Jodi!) to come home to.

Nothing is worth more than seeing the world through my little portal next to seat 23A. The wings slicing through the clouds which filter the rays of the sun, chasing us away. The ocean stretches into eternity. I am deeply saddened that so many on this plane are disenchantedly dozing; this perspective should never be so commonplace that it's less than astounding. It's not yet too dark to see the buckled mountains...the geometric farm fields...narrow, winding rivers...singular, desolate roads. Can I ever comprehend the enormity? Of the world? Of this comparatively minute continent or even country? I see other jets streaking past below and I wonder: how tiny is an airplane? Who am I, just one tiny human passenger amongst all the others? How small are my troubles? Tiny twinkles on life's landscape.

We're cruising toward home on I-35E. It's 2am. Five hours ago Shelly and I were sitting on el Embarcadero, drinking iced mochas, breathing humid salt air, watching aircraft carriers. Such a short time later, I'm back among the familiar.

Amazing.

(PS Shel & Sarah - "Shake it like a penguin ladies!" )