Waiting…I don’t mind really. It’s relaxing and I can let my mind wander as opposed to the business of packing and preparing…endlessly searching my mind to try to ensure I’ve remembered everything we need for the trip.
Now I sit with a steaming latte in a comfy chair, watching the planes come and go. It’s interesting. As I pull my gaze from the still-pink morning sky, I notice the other passengers—some chatting enthusiastically, eager to get going on an adventure with friends or family; others, filling the chasm of time alone with their laptop or newspaper.
Then there’s the…fast forward…we’re on board now, the plane has reached cruising altitude and the seat-belt sign is off. I pull my journal out again and continue writing.
I was meant to fly!! I love the sensations—all of them, even the turbulence we’re now experiencing—but the take-off is my favorite part. We taxi endlessly, it seems, and then it happens. Sometimes there’s a pause, but today just a turn of the big bird as we align with the take-off strip. The engines roar (we’re sitting over the left wing, so it’s particularly loud) and suddenly my chest is sucked back into my seat. It’s an effort to tilt my head, even slightly, to look out the window. Even a deep breath takes a concerted effort. I think most people simply forget to breathe in those magical (or scary—depending on your views of flying) few seconds.
I love the power. I feel it all around and through me. I’m one with the aircraft—heavy and earthbound one minute, then suddenly light and free. I will never understand the science behind it; it’s enough for me just to be a part. Yes, I was meant to fly.