Travel is a strange series of unnatural, counterintuitive events. You drive west to go east. You fly south to go north. You sit around with strangers for ten hours so you can sit around with family for two. See what I mean?
When I fly I like to sit by a window so that I can shake the feeling that I am in a aluminum tube that is hurtling through the air, higher than the Himilayas, with way too many people sitting way to close for comfort. I press my face against the smeary plexi and enjoy all the imaginary foot room below the wing. Nowadays, it is one of the most spiritual things I do, making the term mass transit just a little bit more ironic.
On the home front, after the parking lots, shuttles, planes, trains, people movers, and buses I fall into a rythym. Like that plexiglass window, it's nice and comforting to hold the people we love so close to our face. From there you can see your past, your future, and you can ignore the strangers all around. It makes the journey worth every expense.
But like a boomerang, the inertia reaches it apex where you pause for a moment and then watch helplessly as your destination pulls you back into the bus, the tube, Ohio, where you drive east to find yourself farther from home.
1 comment:
It is a boomerang world DJ. From this perspective though, it is sort of exotic to hear of far away travel when one is planted back at the homefront. The very reason good writers are needed.
...thanks for the reading material.
...bob
Post a Comment