I think we can do it." "But you don't know for sure, " he said. "No." "Geez, Anita." "Don't get rattled on me. We can do this." "But you aren't sure." "I'm not sure we'll survive the plane ride home, but I'm still getting on the plane." "Was that supposed to be comforting?" he asked. "Yeah." "It wasn't, " he said. "Sorry, but this is as good as it gets. You want certainty, be an accountant." "I'm not good at math." "Me either.
What would happen if, once back home, I stayed open to possibilities rather than attach to specific outcomes? What if I dreaded no potential storms? Ruminated over no past transgression? I knew how. For decades the reflex kicked in with each plane ride. The more I pondered these questions - How could I cultivate the habit of taking life as it comes? How can I immerse myself in living, like I'm on vacation on all the time, without boarding a plane or crossing a border? - the more I recognized the arbitrariness of the dichotomy between life and travel.
What if we still ride on, we two / With life forever old yet new, / Changed not in kind but in degree, / The instant made eternity - / And heaven just prove that I and she / Ride, ride together, for ever ride?
Maybe mistakes are what make our fate... without them what would shape our lives? Maybe if we had never veered off course we wouldn't fall in love, have babies, or be who we are. After all, things change, so do cities, people come into your life and they go. But it's comforting to know that the ones you love are always in your heart... and if you're very lucky, a plane ride away
Every now and then, a small plane arrives from nowhere - as tiny as the head of a match-stick - it flies around my head, buzzing, like a pesky little fly, then disappears into my ear. Later, it lands on my throbbing heart. Excited tourists get out of the plane, constantly clicking their cameras, watching the narrow chasms open-mouthed. After some time, the pilot tells the passengers to get back on the plane. The storms are unpredictable here, he warns. So the small plane flies out of my ear, and as I watch them leave, I wish I could go with them. But I know that's impossible. My fear of heights keeps me in the deep.
Alcohol let's us go on a journey. It's like paying for a ride. It maybe a ride to nowhere, but at least we get to go on that ride that we paid for. And no journey is the same. We wake up next day, usually with memory loss, usually with regret at something we did or said. But we know, we got our money's worth.