Written on May 29, 2013
I can’t believe this is actually happening.
My giddy fourth-grader smile stretches all the way from one eye to the other as I stare out the window, across the long wing of the plane. Below, people bustle around, on a schedule that mustn’t be delayed. They all wear neon orange or yellow.
How can this actually be happening? A few months ago it was but an idea, a dream. My mom sits next to me, a similar, but more mature look of excitement on her face.
Before I know it a long strip of tarmac lies in front of us and we begin to accelerate. I feel the exact moment we lift from the ground, and it’s like something from a dream. Something that couldn’t possibly be real. But it is. I may be but 10 years old, but I know how it works. The higher pressure underneath the wing of the plane creates lift; simple as the alphabet. The plane begins to turn, leaning as it does so. This is indisputably one of the most unforgettable moments in my life. The last time I was in a plane I was 5 years old and I only went to California; I can’t remember a thing.
Now, though, I will remember this forevermore. I’m traveling coast to coast in just a few hours, in what is essentially a giant metal bird. How could I forget this?
As we turn, it gives me a better view of Seatac. It may not be my home town, but from the air, it’s beautiful. Hell, from the air, anything is beautiful.
As the hours pass, so do the states below us. Fields and fields of crops laid gracefully across the land, checkering the country with their colors. Cities go by, made smaller by the thousands of feet separating them from us. Lakes seem like puddles, huge rivers like tiny streams. Only one lake remains its enormous size when we fly over. Lake Michigan, perhaps? I suppose I’ll never know.
When we arrive, I can’t believe I’m standing on the soil of another state. One that’s across the entire country. I’m thousands of miles from home and I love it more than anything. That night we go to dinner at a place near the water. This isn’t the water of home; not Puget Sound, not even the Pacific Ocean at all. This is the same ocean washing up on the shores of Africa, of Britain, of Europe. But not on the shores of home. It’s amazing. And I still can’t believe that I have made this idea into a reality.
I can’t believe this is actually happening.
My giddy fourth-grader smile stretches all the way from one eye to the other as I stare out the window, across the long wing of the plane. Below, people bustle around, on a schedule that mustn’t be delayed. They all wear neon orange or yellow.
How can this actually be happening? A few months ago it was but an idea, a dream. My mom sits next to me, a similar, but more mature look of excitement on her face.
Before I know it a long strip of tarmac lies in front of us and we begin to accelerate. I feel the exact moment we lift from the ground, and it’s like something from a dream. Something that couldn’t possibly be real. But it is. I may be but 10 years old, but I know how it works. The higher pressure underneath the wing of the plane creates lift; simple as the alphabet. The plane begins to turn, leaning as it does so. This is indisputably one of the most unforgettable moments in my life. The last time I was in a plane I was 5 years old and I only went to California; I can’t remember a thing.
Now, though, I will remember this forevermore. I’m traveling coast to coast in just a few hours, in what is essentially a giant metal bird. How could I forget this?
As we turn, it gives me a better view of Seatac. It may not be my home town, but from the air, it’s beautiful. Hell, from the air, anything is beautiful.
As the hours pass, so do the states below us. Fields and fields of crops laid gracefully across the land, checkering the country with their colors. Cities go by, made smaller by the thousands of feet separating them from us. Lakes seem like puddles, huge rivers like tiny streams. Only one lake remains its enormous size when we fly over. Lake Michigan, perhaps? I suppose I’ll never know.
When we arrive, I can’t believe I’m standing on the soil of another state. One that’s across the entire country. I’m thousands of miles from home and I love it more than anything. That night we go to dinner at a place near the water. This isn’t the water of home; not Puget Sound, not even the Pacific Ocean at all. This is the same ocean washing up on the shores of Africa, of Britain, of Europe. But not on the shores of home. It’s amazing. And I still can’t believe that I have made this idea into a reality.
I can’t believe this is actually happening.