Zen and the Art of Airplanes

I think airplane flights are the best. Well, maybe I should clarify that. I'm not talking about the red-eye flights, where you land at your destination bewildered, dazed, and with your head now permanently cocked at an unnatural angle from trying to sleep. Nor am I referring to the incredibly cramped seating that even my normal-sized friends have trouble with, much less a gorgeously tall specimen like myself. Nor am I referring to any flight where you are alone with a bored toddler.

No, what I'm talking is the sort of zone you can enter when on a flight. And maybe this doesn't apply to other people, but for me it works better than any retreat center. On a plane, I am forcibly removed from my usual environment(s) and my incessant running around. I am basically trapped in my seat. I may be surrounded by hundreds of people, but 99% of the time I never have to speak to anyone for hours. The drone of the engines covers most noise, and the white noise acts as a comforting blanket to wrap around myself. On an airplane, once I calm down from the stress of getting my ass to the airport and actually into that seat, it's incredibly relaxing. I can read a book and actually get absorbed into it. I can sleep. I can watch a movie, or I can choose not to. The only thing I have to do is just sit. I am never more present in the here and now than when I'm flying.

I have done some of my best and most productive thinking on planes. I've decided the fates of several relationships while on planes. My decision to actually start flight school was spawned by the realization that my life was basically stuck on a hamster wheel while on a plane. I agonized over whether or not to get married while on a plane. In many ways, I have AA, UA, NWA, and ME to thank for getting me to where I am today -- and I'm not talking about Michigan.

Mags and I flew out to MI on Tuesday to visit my father and his family (whole different blog entry for that story.) Normally, flying with Mags isn't too bad, but it is very tiring, and light years away from relaxing. But the fates were with us this week. Of 4 hours on a flight from SFO to DET, Mags slept almost 3 of them. It was wonderful. It was basically like being alone on a plane, which I have not been on in -- what, 3 years now? She passed out about 30 minures into the flight, and expecting it to be a cat nap, I quickly tried to get some rest myself. An hour and a half later, I woke myself with a huge snort (that I think even the captain heard) and looked down to the seat next to me. Just like I'd been only moments before, Mags was lying there with her head back and her mouth gaping like a landed fish. Still hardly believing my luck, I grabbed my Oprah magazine that I'd bought on a whim and started to read it. Mags slept on, and I soon found myself becoming verklepmt over an article about tuna casserole or something like that. I got to read - and I mean actually read, comprehend and absorb instead of my usual quick-skim-and-forget-everything-in-two-hours - half of the magazine! It was like one of those meals where you look up and you realize you've just taken 4 hours to eat, and you can still recal how every morsel tasted.

And still she slept on.

I put my magazine away and for a while, I just kind of was. Content. Relaxed. At peace with the world.

I seriously doubt our flight home will be a repeat performance of our travels here. Nor do I expect any flights - until Mags is, say, 12 and has plugged herself into some sort of electrical distraction - to provide the same sertatonin producing environment while en route from point A to point B. It may happen, but I'm not holding my breath.

Until then, I'm looking forward to being able to fly by myself again.