Flying...

I have been flying a lot lately.  A lot of travel, some work, some pleasure, all of it exhilarating and exhausting.  I got home from my East Coast work trip this morning at 2:30 am which means I was up for over 24 hours.  I am not sure about any of the rest of my Gen Xers out there, but I don’t do that well.  And then, because I am 55, I slept until 6:30.  And I was awake, I fought it for a good 15 minutes...but fuck, I knew the second I got up to pee, I was toast.

So here I sit on 4 hours of sleep, bleary eyed and pumping caffeine like I used to pound beer.

I am not a fan of flying.  I always, without exception feel like we are going to crash upon take off, never landing, but always take off.  The initial bumps and deceleration noises of the jet make me jittery and jumpy.  I have never told anyone that before.  So funny the anxious shit I choose to hold to myself for decades.  I am sure there are more...stay tuned.

Anyway, taking off is always a moment for me.  I pray as we taxi every single time.  And when we touch down safely, I am always saying “thank you” under my breath.  I pray for everyone traveling to arrive safely at their destination.  I am not sure who the patron saint of travel is...but I should know this because I pray to them every single flight.  I even pray for the flight of others I know.  Every.  Single.  Time.

It is St. Jospeh of Cupertino.  That is the patron Saint of flying because he used to levitate during meditation and prayer.  And, yes, that tracks for me.  This is exactly what I am doing every time we take off and land.  To be clear, that is where the similarities between me and good old St. Joe end.

Anyway, once we get up there, I am ok.  Although one time I looked up at cruising altitude and saw smoke and then almost crashed, so I suppose, my nervousness about flying is based in reality and isn’t just a completely neurotic affect.

Flying is a necessary evil.  I like to go places.  And while I love to drive, long road trips make me happy in ways that are hard to communicate.  I feel like the open road is the best place to sort out your shit, drop into your life unfolding and find all the parts of yourself you tucked away or forgot were there.  But road travel isn’t always an option...like you can’t drive to Australia or New Zealand.  So you must fly, and then drive.

Last night’s debacle was manageable.  I was amazed at how much I just accepted that I was likely not going to make it home and that was just that.  I didn’t freak out and start booking other flights...I just hung in there and had faith in the people at United Airlines.  And you know what, they delivered!  Late...and my suitcase was the absolute last one off the the trolley.  But hey, it was there!

I have a tendency to move quickly in life.  I shift positions, change my mind, alter thinking patterns, move at top speed.  In this regard, I love flying.  I am not the turtle in the old adage, always the hare.  And while I can see the value and wisdom of the turtle, I just cannot slow down like that.  If I slow down, I stop.  That is just how it is with me, so flying is just what I do.  I do have the ability to mediate my speed, but if you know me, you know I am gonna be flying through life as often as I can (metaphorically and literally).

I was in therapy the other week and we were discussing my last committed relationship shitshow.  It really was the worst relationship I ever had, drunk or sober.  And we were discussing what was the final straw for me.  I mean, most normal people would have left when he leverages my finances in support of him, lied, cheated, got drunk, acted like a complete asshole, didn’t value me, didn’t do what he said he would, way over promised and then barely delivered, disappeared for hours at a time without explanation or apology.  I am over here shaking my head, what the actual fuck was I thinking!???  Man when I am delusional, the shit it THICK!

Anyway, therapist was asking me why I finally left before I had the “proof” I had been looking for?  Do you know what I said?  Boredom.  That was the thing that ultimately led me to leave him.  I was just bored of his incessant failures and lack of interest.  His engagement in the whole relationship just bored me.  I was sick of his shit, for sure.  But mostly I grew tired of him and his lack of interest, energy and drive.  Which resulted in me having absolutely no respect for him whatsoever.  Which resulted in me having to take a long hard look at my own lack of self respect as to why I was allowing this asshole to remain in my life!

Yep, of all his sins (and there were many), it was his failure to interest me that was the ultimate reason I left him.  He bored me.  So yes, flying is something that I like to do.  I want to be moving not at mach 10 with my hair on fire anymore, that was for younger years, but I do want to engage with life with an energy and interest that moves closer to the speed of sound, and less at the meandering pace of a tortoise.

I am grateful to be home in my own bed this morning.  I am grateful the only thing I wasted yesterday was a little sleep and time.  I am grateful we didn’t take a substandard plane up into the stratosphere and, instead, waited on one that could make the trip.  Life moves pretty fast, and if you want to be in my life, you are gonna have to hold my interest.  And that is going to require that you too, on occasion, fly with me to the places unknown and unknowable.

Again, still.