August 19th, 2015
Thirty-four thousand one hundred and five feet up, one thousand five hundred and twenty-two miles to go. A brisk negative 45 degrees Fahrenheit. Nothing but three inches of aluminum and hard plastic separating my cheek from the cold oxygen-starved Iowa stratosphere.
As I look down at the cottony white clouds below the wings of this plane I am reminded of something I read only yesterday on the beach: “Someday this morning would just be a memory.”
It is both comforting and daunting to think that this moment sitting by the window with my fingers pecking at the keyboard, my mouth dry and my nostrils stinging from the recycled air, will soon be a memory. That I’ll be collecting my bag at Terminal 3, and that probably most exciting of all there are people only a thousand miles away, people only a couple of hours into the future, who will impact my life in ways I can’t begin to imagine now.
Just within my reach there are moments that will arise and pass, that will evolve into memories, and that stacked up one on top of the other, will amount to my life.
