So I'm on the road for work this week, which means I spent a good portion of Monday flying across the country. I had a window seat on this flight - unfortunately, my phone was dead, so I didn't get any pictures. The one posted here was taken by a coworker, who also had a window seat. We got lucky. I'll be sure to get a bunch on Friday, though, so fear not! Might be at night, but I really don't care. Anyway, most of the flight, I was staring out the window at the sky, at the clouds, at the earth below me, and I think I finally realized why it is that I love being in the air so damn much.
To start off, I want to say something about the clouds. We see them all the time, but they're... so far away. Beyond our reach. Almost ethereal, immaterial in their inaccessibility. But from 35,000 feet, they take on a whole new life. Not only can you see the clouds, you can see the differences in elevation. You can see clouds gliding over each other, devouring each other, swarming around you, and at times, completely blinding you. Something about seeing a layer of puffy, cottony clouds down low, a sparsely populated yet thick and imposing level above that, and above all the thin, wispy clouds in the upper troposphere just makes me smile.
But the main thing is the earth. Most people say that everything looks small from a plane - I disagree. I cannot bring myself to shake the sense of scale. I realize that tiny speck of a building miles below is actually a large structure and just can't suspend that knowledge, even for a second. The thing is, though, while I still think of that as large, I see so much more from up there. I see the trees surrounding man's efforts. I see the mountains dwarfing the buildings. I see the canyons capable of swallowing the largest highways whole. I see all that and I am amazed.
This country has over 300 million people - mostly concentrated in a relative few small locations. And from up there in the clouds, man is insignificant. The grandeur of the Earth envelops every one of our meager accomplishments. We owe everything to this scenery, this bounteous landscape. Without the gifts it has bestowed upon us, we would not exist. The higher I ascend, the more connected I feel to the world below, the more I realize how dependent on it I truly am. While we have conquered every frontier this planet has to offer - from Antarctica to Siberia, from the depths of the oceans to the sky itself - land is our home. We cannot escape this. Ever.
I saw mountains with trees and mountains with snow. I saw rivers and canyons channeling water into areas made fertile by its grace. I saw farmlands and cities, their inhabitants entirely dependent on each other, but even more so on the land itself. And I saw desert. I saw vast stretches of barren desolation. I saw environments wholly hostile to habitation. I saw the true fortune our home can grant us, and I saw the emptiness we could so easily be subject to. This dichotomy, the duality of nature, gives me an unprecedented appreciation and sense of gratitude for how lucky we all truly are.
I want to be a pilot so I can see this every day. I want to fly so I can feel that sense of awe every day. I want to conquer the skies to feel that connection to the nurturing earth below every single day for the rest of my life. I want to spend my days in the sky so that I feel that respect and thankfulness during my nights on land. That's why I want to fly. Not for a paycheck. Not to join the storied ranks of aviators. I want to fly to keep myself grounded. Ironic? I certainly don't think so.
♥ ♥ ♥
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