Lost in Flight

I've never liked flying. For a long time I tried to convince myself that I loved it, that the thrill being suspended over an ocean and spanning entire continents excited me. The allusion worked for a while. Visiting new sights and cities and absorbing new cultures compels me to fly fairly frequently, so the hunger for travel easily transferred to an avidity for flight. However, the facade eventually wore off, and I gave up on that idea when I noticed that I cried almost every time I stepped onto an airplane. It's not that flights are boring. I always bring a good book, which can hold my attention for hours and days at a time, so being bored is clearly not the problem. It's the fact that I'm blinded on flights. I can see nothing of what's in front of me besides a beige chairback and the little plastic cup of ginger ale that the flight attendant offers me to drink. While my destination is known, I have no concept of how I get there, of the path I'm travling, or where I am at any given moment, and for a brief interval, I am nowhere.

The last time I flew, the plane was delayed and when we finally pushed back from the gate, we inched slowly toward the runway, moving forward in small spurts, like a teenager learning to drive a standard transmission. There were several planes ahead of us for takeoff. That's what I assume, anyway; I strained to see through the window what was ahead of us, but my gaze was returned by no more than the darkness outside. Nothing but blackness and emptiness loomed in my vision. So I cried, my only memorial for the loss of my sense of belonging and being, of temporarily losing my place and being nowhere. Because in order to really exist, you have to see and understand that you are someplace, and that you belong there.

I frequently take walks or hikes, with no particular destination in mind. Where I end up matters less to me than how I get there. So I wander, simply because I can. Because I have two legs and a good pair of walking shoes, and because there is room enough for me to roam.

My dream vacation includes no itinerary and no planned points of interest, but simply getting in a car and driving, enjoying the scenery and my companion, taking in everything along the way, stopping to visit whatever looks interesting, and possibly some things that don't. I still haven't taken this trip. My more practical (ie boring) side and the lack of a willing cohort have prevented me. But I will, someday.

I've been criticized for these views. What about goals, about having working towards something great? But it's not a lack of goals, but rather a change of emphasis from the result to the effort put forth to get there. If a doctor were to lose a patient, he would never regret trying to save him, so long as he had done everything in his power to help the patient. End results are often not what we anticipate or even what we thought we were working toward in the first place, but it's the journey, the path we took to get wherever we end up that matters. But it's taking that journey, because we can, because we have a good pair of walking shoes and a path available to us.

Christianity, and religion in general, have been criticized for being selfish. These claims are based on the idea that the purpose of Christianity is gaining exaltation and salvation for oneself, and therefore fosters self-centered attitudes in all of its followers. Clearly, the only reason a Christian would help another person or give of themselves in any way is so that they can gain something greater, for themselves and nobody else. If this really is the message of Christianity, then our accusors are right in their claims. But this isn't what Christianity is all about. It isn't until one forgets the end result, forgets what's in it for them, that true Christianty and selflessness are born. Until the real focus is on the journey, on where we are, on loving the people and the experiences that we encounter along the way, and recognizing true love from the substitutes that are so readily offered up, handed out like candy on Halloween. That's when purpose enters in, and amazingly, it's the best way to end up where we want to go.

"Millions long for immortality who don't know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon." -Susan Ertz