Mile High Thoughts

Lately, I have flown a lot. Up until 2012, I had never been on a plane and since that first trip to the brilliantly wonderful island of Barbados, I have gone up, up, and away six times. I know people have flown much more than this, but it is my reaction to the entire flight experience that I wonder if other people can relate too. 

Sure, travelling gives me the nervous butterflies. I worry if I have everything packed that one could possibly need in any season. My travel documents are meticulously checked, double checked, and packed away in the most convenient locations. More than anything, I get sweaty nervous going through the airport. Customs, immigration, and all the waiting makes my insides shaky and my hands clammy.

However, once I am through all of the processes, done waiting at my departing gate, and finally in my designated seat, a funny thing happens. My innards are still, my heart is relaxed, and my palms are dry. I settle in and figure out which window I can see out of easily (when I am not lucky enough to get the window seat). Then I watch. I love take off. My eyes grow large as the plane picks up enough speed to lift off the ground and the landing gear is safely stowed. I smile as we climb above the clouds and nothing can be seen. Turbulence is a motion of stomach tickling enjoyment, and landing is accompanied by the same sense of wonder and delight.

On shorter flights I listen to music and take in the scenery that a lower flying plane (or bus with wings if were talking Air Canada Jazz) provides. Seeing all the tiny farmers’ fields, houses with pools, boats on the great lakes, and how interesting the layout of North American living is brings me a great sense of curiosity and appreciation. For longer flights, I try to sleep, but usually I fail miserably and spend most of the flight watching the on-screen map. Yes, I watch the map. No movies. No Shows. Give me a tiny plane and distance stats and I am an incredibly happy girl.  Flights longer than five hours are a foreign idea to me. My behaviour would be drastically different, I am sure. When’s the best time to go to Europe? 

This strange sense of calmness and wonder has lead me to believe that being high above the Earth is where I find the most inner peace. So, even though the stats do not support this theory, I could very well meet my last minute on an airplane. Oddly, this thought does not terrify me, but leaves me completely content in the possibility of leaving this world in a fiery (or watery) plane crash.

I guess it goes along with the fact that getting old and sick petrifies me. Having family and friends watch my demise slowly and leaving the world as an ill and frail individual is truly an awful thing to think about. 

So, for all of those I love, honour, and adore: If I die in a plane crash, know I am at peace, and remember me for the cheery, odd, and beautiful girl I was at the time. Celebrate my life, don’t mourn my passing. Mourners will be haunted. Creepily. I promise.

I also promise that if I happen to live to be elderly and die of whatever is in store for me, I will do my best not to be grumpy about it. 

Is there anywhere you feel completely (possibly eerily) at peace?