airplane

Airplane Thinking {Personal}

As I get on the 707 
Ridin' high I got tears in my eyes 
You know you got to go through hell 
Before you get to heaven 

steve miller | jet airliner


I'm still trying to figure out what it is that happens when us humans get on planes.
We start getting all deep and thoughtful;
looking out a plane window ignites some of our most inspiring thinking!
We're so cute.

The last few days I've had some serious airplane time:
Sunday was 10+ hours of flying (Baltimore, to Newark, to Seattle, to Vancouver.)
Tuesday was wonderfully only about 6 hours (Vancouver to Chicago to Washington DC)
and then yesterday was Baltimore to Tampa (felt like a walk to the bathroom! so quick!).

You know what that means?
LOTS OF DEEP THINKING!
And lots of water from a tiny plastic cup.
And lots of hiding my phone from the flight attendants so I can take pictures during take-off.

I did have a mini airplane revelation about myself, though.
It might be a little cheesy,
or cliche',
but at the moment I was sitting there it seemed ridiculously profound.

Here it goes (don't laugh):
During life I like to see what's going on.
I like my familiar world.
"Hey look! There's my highway. I know this place."
I'm comfortable,
I feel safe,
I feel somewhat in control.
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Then the impending grey clouds creep.
This, well, is when I start to react.
"What they hey! Get out of here! I can't see!"
Fear creeps in,
thoughts swirl.
"Maybe it'll just stay like this.
This isn't TOO bad.
I can still kind of see."
I find my comfort and safety in my ability to "see."
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And before long,
I'm in the throes of "zero visibility."
I literally wouldn't know if I was going up or down or sideways.
It's confusing in complete grey.
I freak out.
I want to go back.
I want to see my highway again.
This is ugly.
I don't like it here.
It's dark.
And I don't like turbulence. 
It makes my stomach turn in sick knots.
This is the worst.
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By the time a "new" scene comes,
I don't even notice the beauty,
because I'm just SO RELIEVED to be out of the grey.
It's easy for me to miss the process that just happened.
The leaving behind the old, the comfortable, the familiar,
being tossed into storms clouds
with the purpose of taking me somewhere new.
PhotobucketDespite my doubting + freak-out-ing,
the new place is always so stunning.
The horizon of two skies meet,
brilliant marbled blue on top,
golden kissed air spun to make miles of puff underneath,
greet each other with colorful strokes of light.
It's beyond breath-taking.
The sun has been shining all this time. 
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And this new place has been here all this time,
I just couldn't see.

In a very literal sense,
I had to go through the storm clouds to see this new glorious stage.
I had to go far away from my highway,
my world,
my safety net.

This particular beauty isn't there!
It's somewhere else!
When the time comes to go,
I must embrace the going.

When clouds are thick and awful,
I must choose to believe this is only part of the ride.

New is coming,
this won't last!
I'm going to fly above the clouds and see the sun.
And it's going to be better then what was left behind.

"For we walk by faith, not by sight.
The old has passed away; 
behold, the new has come. 
All this is from God."
 2 cor 5 | verses 7, 17 + 18