Plane thoughts

Throughout my life, I have maintained a child like fascination with planes. No matter how many times I fly I’m still tickled by the thought that travel through the air, real life flying, is possible, and that I’m a part of it. Waiting at my gate I fill the role of the weirdo who takes pictures of the planes through the glass and waves to various orange-vested employees while they harass luggage or wave around over sized glow sticks. And then I load myself and my luggage onto an enormous metal structure, one that was capable of bringing down towers, one that gives whales a run for their money in tonnage, and ponder the fact that it will leave the ground with me in it (hint: because SCIENCE). And planes crash and burn but not all that often so flying doesn’t scare me. I always start with this fascination of planes and gravity and science and whales but it wears off pretty quickly when my single serving friend doesn’t believe in showering and when it becomes difficult to distinguish my food from it’s packaging. Or when I can’t sleep sitting up but my neighbor can and therefore drools on me, and when my ears don’t pop or when the baby’s ears in the seat behind me won’t pop, or when I have to pee right as the seatbelt sign goes on and so on. But don’t get me wrong, still love flying! And more than love is gratitude; I’m grateful I’ve flown so much. Because, except in extreme circumstances, flying generally takes you somewhere.

            I got into Heathrow and made it past check-in, visa in hand and pride in my back pocket. A week after I was meant to but real journeys take time gosh! First stop: Dubai. Dubai. Wut Even (cite Celia Greene). It’s like Vegas. And I was just in the airport, which alone is fancier than the hotel that Beyonce stays in. It had mirrored pillars and fairy lights on the ceiling and glass and silver plated elevators and entire walls covering three stories that were made of marble with water flowing down the smooth surface into a pool with fountains on the ground level. I walked through the Food Court West (there were four) and stumbled upon an indoor garden which included a bubbling stream and baby waterfall as well as some orchids. Did I mention I only saw the airport? Yeah, can’t even imagine what the rest of it was like. Or the caste system and income disparity and unsustainable lifestyles…Anyway, I was eating my overpriced sandwich and observing a man who had taken two bites of his burger and then walked away from the table and the rest of his food, the equivalent of about four courses. Not going to lie, I seriously considered eating his food. Used self-restraint successfully. Before we landed, Emirates played us an in-air introduction to the things we could spend money on in Dubai which included indoor skiing and deluxe spa packages. The duty-free cart was selling Rolex watches. Of course, no judgment to Dubai…it just doesn’t seem compatible with my lifestyle. I mean, they don’t even recycle.

            But Dubai was a just a stop, Bangalore the destination. I was trying to feel one way or another on the plane but I just felt everything and nothing and that wasn’t helpful. It was that jumping off the edge sensation, where your options are sink or swim, and a lot of times they aren’t even options. And I felt really young. Not young in the “yolo-conquer-I-can-do-anything-I’m-awesome” type of way. Young where you realize you don’t really know anything when it comes to everything. And the only thing to do with that feeling is carry on because that what makes you get older and ideally wiser. I think (though I don’t know) that that feeling is a good thing.