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.
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