I love traveling, flying most of all. Even at its most annoying (hello SFO security check point, SFO airport layout… SFO in general, actually), I’m still loving it because when you get on an airplane, you’re going somewhere new.
I don’t travel as much as I wish I could. The practical side of my personality can always find other ways to spend my time and money in a way that is more pragmatic than, say, buying a one-way ticket to Spain. So at this point, the only time I get to travel is for work.
I flew from California to New Orleans for a work conference yesterday. Work conferences are rarely rip-roaring good times – they’re long, somewhat boring and you spend all day drinking gross coffee in a hotel meeting room. But, I got to ride in an airplane. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve flown, the chance to ride in an airplane thrills me.
It’s that moment of takeoff, when this gigantic hunk of metal full of people catches the air and it and everyone inside is suddenly weightless. I know it’s an act of physics, but in that moment when you’re not just sitting on the ground but in the air is one of the few moments in life that feels like pure magic.