The Window Seat

The line to board the plane stretched to the adjacent waiting section. I rambled up to the back of the line and claimed my position. It was 8:10 a.m. and I had only arrived at the airport a mere twenty minutes ago. I have a tendency to enter the airport with only minutes to spare before takeoff. With that, the somber feeling of departing doesn’t register until I’m seated on the plane, and at that point, I’m already gone.

As a herd, we lifted one foot and moved a step forward sporadically. After being funneled in, we were all on the plane. I find it interesting to observe passengers, especially the high-status citizens in first class, as I inch closer to my seat. Most people, nowadays, glare down at their phones or their computers. Besides the children, they’re bouncing around with excitement.

As the plane flew above the Rocky Mountains, that same feeling of excitement and wonder shared by the children, flooded me. It was breathtaking to observe the peaks from this vantage point, and the mere fact that at this moment, I was thousands of feet in the air. As one grows older, one’s perception of the everyday miracles and wonders of life begins to fade–at least for some people. I am referencing the simple moments, such as spotting a blue jay. The blue jay remains miraculous, but there is a lack of acknowledgment on the viewer’s part.

I remained fixated to the window for a majority of the flight’s duration. Towards the end of the flight, I spotted my hometown, due to the imposing power plants emitting toxins. I had never before experienced my hometown from this vantage point–there’s a reason I reserve the window seat.



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