Now some of my friends and family could not ever really relate to this feeling of elation upon becoming airborne given an innate fear of flying. Any fear I might have is quickly replaced by freedom. Freedom, definitely. That freedom feeling is much strong when flying solo, like tonight. I checked my bag and headed to the security line, feeling a bit naked without three kids and their stuff in tow. I felt like I’ve left something behind. I did. Responsibility for anyone but myself. As a mother of three, this was a rare moment. As much as I love my children and spending time with them, there is nothing quite like going on a pleasure trip with the children in good hands at home.
For some reason, my plane is flying incredibly low tonight. At first, I was half expecting to turn around given our proximity to the earth. But here we remain. Low. I know that we are low because all of the little planes are coming down in altitude from the heavens above my plane to land at the airports below. I can make out street lights, traffic, and the occasional McDonalds golden arches. On this perfectly clear night, never before have the lights of Cedar Rapids, St. Louis, and all of the places in between looked so beautiful. All of the cities and little towns lie glittering below my feet. The bright stars in the sky replace the extinguished city lights as we fly out over the pitch black darkness of the Gulf of Mexico. Until Tampa Bay and Sanibel Island shimmer in the distance below, spread out like jewels in the inky dark of a March night.
Perhaps flying solo lends a certain calmness to the crazy life of a mother. Maybe The Killers blasting on my iPod helps as well. There is no one but a stranger beside me, and she certainly won’t demand my iPod to watch Toy Story. Regardless, as I gaze out of my window over the wing, I’ve found a reassuring, if temporary, peace.
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