I do not hate flying, driving, or taking the train. Rather, I enjoy these normally dreaded activities – especially when alone. It allows me to gather my thoughts, listen to music for extended periods, and in the case of flying and riding the train, it allows me to read and write. All of which, I am doing on this post-Christmas morning. Some reading this might think I am the ultimate introvert, but on the contrary, my natural state is that of an outgoing, talkative, and inquisitive extrovert. But there is a certain appeal to being the lone traveler among the masses. Not that this lone state differs much from my life as a single, twenty-something living in a new city every few months, but strangely the forced removal from one’s normal routine coupled with an opportunity to reflect and “get away” is intoxicating.
While I am on the topic of travel, my latest connecting flight had a great deal of turbulence over an extended period. Now whenever this happens to me and in an entirely non-suicidal or depressed way, I always find myself imagining the whole thing going down and being okay with it. Maybe this stems from my inability to improve the situation or the uniqueness that this type of demise promises. Cancer impacts 30-40% of earth’s population at some point and I am sure heart-related ailments have similar percentages, but airplane disasters are rare and at least my name would be in a few news articles. Or maybe I may have watched Almost Famous one too many times.