You can Fly!

Part of me really likes flying and part of me detests it. This is a typical Bri statement - I love and hate everything, weigh things back and forth, change my mind one hundred times a day and always have a new favorite, a new idea, a new project or plan or future or choice.

But flying really is ambiguous. One one hand, airports are really cool places. You share a room, or a building with people you may never encounter again in your life, everyone's stories going in completely different directions, all intersecting for one brief moment in time, as though a thousand strings were gathered together and then pulled apart. I feel safe in an airport. Pulling my little Roots bag on wheels is fun - I could be going anywhere! I like to think to myself that I'm off for a week in Paris, or returning from a trek in the Amazon, or even going down to New York City. I like taking off, and watching the houses and streets get smaller and smaller until they disappear -- the new perspective gives me such a fresh feeling! I like the sesame snacks and the shortbread cookies and the gingerale. I like the little pamphlets and magazines and the barf bag that I put my Cadbury Creme Egg into after I hollowed out all of the good stuff. I like knowing that I am thousands of feet above the earth, away from my problems and anxieties and deadlines. I like the THUMP of landing, and watching the tires spring into action when they hit the runway.

But I don't like being scared of crashing and dying. At least once, every time I fly, I think about death. I think about what would happen if the plane crashed -- would they find my stuff? Would someone start to worry about me? Would it hurt? I can't help it. I'm not morbid, just shaky. I don't like the line ups -lining up for everything! I don't like going through security, and having strange men dig through my make up bag, tossing aside tampons and hair clips to ensure that my tweezers aren't point-tipped. I don't like having to take a cab home and make small talk with a driver for 15 minutes. Most of all, though, I don't like saying goodbye. And there is always goodbye, it seems. I hate hate hate hate it -- how do you really walk away from someone? How many times do you look back before you have to start walking forward? It's still not something that I'm used to.

So the airplane experience is a balance for me. If I could I would drive back and forth - something that I love to do. Over the next 21 days, I'm sure I'll be looking forward to the next time I get on a plane, 'cause it'll be the next time I see Steve again - tipping the scales favorably in the direction of 'amazing'.