March 23, 2012
The sun seems brighter through the window of an airplane. Rays so strong they take on tactile sensation, a gold paintbrush across my cheek. We are chasing the light, skating west across this giant country whose size is bewildering every time I take half a moment to consider it. Six hours to fly across 48 contiguous states united under one flag. I am struck by how little I know of my own nation, and of the people who share the privilege of my citizenship.
Tonight’s destination is San Francisco--glorious, soulful California. Without having ever lived there, I already feel it is home to a future self. It’s March 23rd--one fourth of the way through the year--and this is the 25th plane I’ve boarded in 2012. Where has the year gone?
Truthfully, I am sick of planes and perilously close to being sick of traveling altogether. I want to be home, not always dividing my time between airports and unpacking. I feel the weight of life choices not mindfully made.
On the other hand, who am I to complain? DC-Boston-DC-Chile-Argentina-Chile-Colombia-DC-New Orleans-DC-Boston-DC-New Orleans-DC-London-DC-Austin-DC-San Francisco-and-it's-not-even-April-yet.
I am not sparing any opportunity to fill the minutes, hours, and days at my disposal. The joy of landing someplace quickly eclipses the pain of flying there; and with every arrival, there I am, joyfully aware of the life I am living--no matter how tired, ever grateful.
The sun seems brighter through the window of an airplane. Rays so strong they take on tactile sensation, a gold paintbrush across my cheek. We are chasing the light, skating west across this giant country whose size is bewildering every time I take half a moment to consider it. Six hours to fly across 48 contiguous states united under one flag. I am struck by how little I know of my own nation, and of the people who share the privilege of my citizenship.
Tonight’s destination is San Francisco--glorious, soulful California. Without having ever lived there, I already feel it is home to a future self. It’s March 23rd--one fourth of the way through the year--and this is the 25th plane I’ve boarded in 2012. Where has the year gone?
Truthfully, I am sick of planes and perilously close to being sick of traveling altogether. I want to be home, not always dividing my time between airports and unpacking. I feel the weight of life choices not mindfully made.
On the other hand, who am I to complain? DC-Boston-DC-Chile-Argentina-Chile-Colombia-DC-New Orleans-DC-Boston-DC-New Orleans-DC-London-DC-Austin-DC-San Francisco-and-it's-not-even-April-yet.
I am not sparing any opportunity to fill the minutes, hours, and days at my disposal. The joy of landing someplace quickly eclipses the pain of flying there; and with every arrival, there I am, joyfully aware of the life I am living--no matter how tired, ever grateful.
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| London, caffeine in hand. |
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