Transcontinentalism

Flying across the continent (this time from SF to NY) last Saturday provided me with the ultimate time out. This is especially true because I forgot to bring a book, and as a result was stuck listening to the the usual iPod playlist that he listens to nearly every day.


The quasi-silence was most welcome at this particular moment. The familiar mix of Rogue Wave, Buena Vista Social Club, and Death Cab for Cutie accompanied the gentle purple stream clouds over Iowa (I think), and my restless brain was put at ease. Suddenly, however, in my half-awake slumber, I realized that I had just scribbled a massive clump of black ink on my left hand. Immediately, I looked at my hand and thought, "Oh shit, what a mess I've put myself in". Seeping through the circuitous lines of black, a few skin-toned strands try to get through. They are overwhelmed and as I looked at them they seemed to sink deeper beneath the black.

The clouds were still drifting calmly below us - perhaps we are over Illinois now? I looked down and sought solace in their gentleness, their radiant simplicity.

Somehow when one is allowed to wrestle with a complicated situation and figure out a new way to approach it, perhaps there is no better place than a plane. You are literally above it all - or as the Carpenters would say, "Your on the top of the world looking down on creation".

In any city, even the most calming and beautiful of cities, distractions abound. People are restlessly searching and contemplating their next move. This is true in their careers, their social lives, but perhaps most unfortunately - it is true with love.

What I am wrestling with now requires many next moves. Much advice, greater understanding, and mutual exploration. Oh, how I want this! Will I get it? These are unanswered questions down below, but up here they dissipate, anf seem to float away with the now purple-hued clouds beneath me.

The blanket of clouds continued to darken. The wing turned black. Gotham was now only an hour away. Spoon started to blast "I Summon You" through my earphones. How do I summon you?

The song continued, "Remember the weight of the world is a sound that we used to buy." Yes, I have bought this particular sound too many times for a man of 26. Should I continue to consume such heavy-hearted feelings?

Suddenly, the stewardesses started coming down the aisle asking, "coffee, soda, juice. I felt like some OJ.

Ella Fitzgerald's, "Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered" squashed the repetitive beverage service calls. Suddenly, I felt transported to a Manhattan autumn, straight out of a Woody Allen movie - maybe Hannah and Her Sisters. So beautiful.

As we descended into JFK, the wing and the outside world became one - darkness completely consumed us. I felt stronger, more inspired. I really don't know why. Do I suddenly know everything that I am supposed to do? No, not at all. Yet as the black and white hues became one I was reminded that this world is filled with gray areas. We are not creatures of distinct colors or lines but many shades. Always seeking the next move is futile. Embracing the experience is key.

Sometimes you just have to get above it all to remember that.

Parakeets over San Francisco

Terraced above the city like parakeets on a massive snake-like perch,characters in this section of Dolores Park is always so full of personality and intrigue. Just now there are two men off to my left mysteriously sitting in the growing afternoon shade. They are talking about their budding love interests of the previous week. They speak with excitement and exasperation as if nobody else is around. This sort of conversation is perhaps the most common topic among this cadre.

Two guys, a couple I assume, just sat in front of them. As they slowly unpack their food, I feel and hear my stomach slowly grumble. Apparently Wispa crackers and peanut butter did not suffice for a full lunch. The J-train rolls by. Their voices are soft. Oh, how I wished I had better ears.

Giving up on this duo, my attention drifts to the loudest voice among these birds. Two rather large acquaintances off to my left. Their earlier conversation focused on getting laid off, going to the Obama inauguration, and Wells Fargo web analytics. Though very clear and annunciation (apparently one of them is in the gay mens choir), I don't find their conversation too captivating. Why must he have such a punctuating decibel?

In front of me, slightly to my left sits a silent reader like myself. His hair is long, black and unkempt. He must be close to forty because he is going gray above the ears. More than anything he reminds me of the men in the 70s band, America. How my father loves that band. He would listen to the LPs for days on end.

Ouch, he just looked back with the most annoyed and slightly horrified look. He really carries himself more like Anthony Kiedis. Somehow, my daydreaming of him singing "Sister Golden Hair Surprise" seems in vain.

Now the two soft-talkers behind me starts to speak up. Of curse, they are talking about shopping for something. One of them wants to buy a new coat with a fur hood from Saks Fifth Avenue. May I remind you this is during a 75 degree afternoon in San Francisco. Oh, please stifle yourself a bit you two. They oblige as if responding to my telepathic demand.

As the shopping conversation dissipates, a beautiful woman perches herself over to my right. She gently strokes her left earring, and then checks her PDA device, seemingly in one fell swoop.

Perhaps she is waiting for someone. No she is definitely a bird on a wire. Her face is so lonely. She misses her lover whoever her (or she) is. She has that ambivalent Scarlett Johanssen look on her face. So carefree, yet so fragile. I see this look on so many young women as of late. Their eyes are constantly searching, and they look bewildered and somewhat fatigued by what they are seeing.

She checks her PDA almost non-stop, and after each check, she throws the innocent device into her bag, then pulls it back out again. This cycle repeats itself a couple of times over the next ten minutes. Finally, she takes a breath and holds the Blackberry in her palm. She clutches it. It is her only connection to him, and it is still in her control. She has the power, but she will not exert it. She looks very afraid.

Finally, defeated, she tosses it back into the bag. This time it is pushed deep into the bottom of her satchel. She pulls out a book and puts on a pair of Jackie O sunglasses. How despondent she seems. Today's quest for love and intimacy is lost. Her book becomes a Berlin Wall between her and the outside world.

The soft-talkers are now cackling loudly. They are immersed in meaningless text-messages. Next to them, a tall man is putting his shirt back on. I see his silhouette in front of me, but as I look back the 3:30 sun shoots out at me and all of my fellow birds. The silhouette is joined by so many. At all points on my compass people now leave as the sun's rays pull back behind Twin Peaks.

A gently chilling wind lifts my wings and pushes me off my perch. I bid adieu to my fellow fair-feathered friends.