taking flight

I've been in love with flying ever since I first set foot on a plane. The first time took me from Omaha to St. Louis to Miami to Port-au-Prince, Haiti. Considering the distance I traveled, it's a good thing I fell in love with flight.

I remember flying into Miami at night and seeing how the city's lights marked the outline of where the land ended and the water began.

I remember flying over the Caribbean and catching glimpses of the sea through breaks in the clouds.

When I lived in Reno, I would watch the planes arrive and depart. Before I fell in love with the city and its people, I used to wonder where each of the departing planes was flying and would wish I were on board, regardless of its final destination.

During my last flight, the plane literally skimmed across the tops of the clouds for a time. The ground below didn't even seem to exist. We were meant to skim above the clouds. At our peak altitude, the plane was up at 27,000 feet. Did you know that it's 65 degrees below zero at that height?

This past flight was to Omaha. In the next few months, I'll fly to Omaha, New Orleans, Chicago, Omaha (again), and Montego Bay, Jamaica. I had hoped to fly out to Reno too this year, but I don't think I'll be able to afford it. As is, I'm purchasing plane tickets in lieu of purchasing furniture. It's a trade-off I'm more than happy to make.

Because home is not where I live, it's so important to me to keep connected with the people who are home. Perhaps that's a large part of the appeal flight has for me - it enables me to span distances that would otherwise be extremely difficult if not impossible to manage otherwise.