Looking at the world from 35,000 feet in the air is humbling to say the least. With all of our daily fears and anxieties, one only needs to hop on a commercial flight, sitting in the window seat, for a rejigger.
First there's the taxi-ing on the runway, your anticipation for the plane engines to start-up building. At that moment, the captain buzzes in over the loud speaker and says "ladies and gentlemen, prepare for takeoff." That's when the loud revving begins, and no matter how many times you've been in this scenario, all sorts of disastrous thoughts run through your head. The ever-anxious worst-case-scenario part of your psyche perks to life every time.
At this point, the revving has turned into a full on sprint, the hollow metal tube supported by oversized tires and buoyant wings begins to lift itself off the ground through a phenomenon that consists of compressing air. You've lost a little bit of your stomach. The huge, hollow structure is now at about a 55 degree angle, slightly tilted to the left. You're peering through the window at the outskirts of Houston, TX. The land is sprawling -- the fields, office buildings, chemical reservoirs, church's, residential neighborhoods all look like miniature versions of themselves. Cars mimic tiny, shiny ants gliding slowly across the roadways. People are specs of dust at this height. Microscopic and seemingly irrelevant.
But, it's people who have built all of those structures down there. The cars, that they pumped gas into, which they drilled out of the earth before that. People designed and built the hollow, metal, flying tube that your sitting in, which is now gliding at 30,000 feet, the horizon an eternal blue, speckled with fluffy, streaky white formations we call clouds.
~ Costa Rica, 2017