Flying Home.

No matter who you are and which way you’re pointed, somehow, you’re going home. Maybe not now, but eventually and the place defines where you’re bound. Because what’s ahead is most clearly determined by what’s behind; where you’re going by where you’re from. Really, there’s no “to” without a “from,” and the ultimate “to,” the eventual “at last,” is always home.

A lot of home, then, is in the leaving and sometimes you can see it clearly; sometimes you can’t. But you can appreciate the separation when it happens before your eyes, though you try not to look. There’s a bit of loss ahead, if only for a moment but it’s there, reinforcing the value of home carried aboard in every parting.

Other times, home just about comes along for the trip.

Little ones travel like rock stars, trailed by adult roadies hauling enough of home to make it so for the kids. Now that’s okay to look at, refreshing, almost, in the world of to and from: home is parents caring for kids, being a family. That’s almost enough to make up for the home more often left behind with family too; distance being more than just a measurement.

In that case–maybe even more so than in the families dragging “home” through an airport–you can see what’s left behind and it’s even more powerful often than what’s immediately ahead. Because home throughout the miles is always ahead, eventually.

But there’s not always unlimited miles to go, you have to realize.

Yes, home is home but there aren’t always more miles ahead than behind on the journey. That’s not always easy to acknowledge, but it’s true. We’re all along for the ride, however many miles that entails and whichever way you want to cross them.

But some of us are just tagging along for all the miles. And when you realize the journey for what it is, day after day, mile after mile, you come to see the reality, the duality of the crossing: there’s doing it–then there’s living it.

Here’s the plain old doing: plans and performance, weight and balance, thrust, speed, lift, ceiling, cruise winds, fuel flow, amen.

Everyone’s underway, doing whatever they do, going wherever they will, being whoever they are, and living the miles how ever they do. Probably it’s not easy if the ride is all you’re along for, enduring the here to there, mindful (or not) of miles to go and the distance to or from home nonetheless.

Still I’d like to think that there’s more I can do in the actual flying to make the journey more than just a death march en route. Besides the safe passage at shotgun speed and above and beyond the course and track.

If nothing else–at least after sufficient java–I can live it out, rather than just do the job. Someone on board should do more than just endure. Someone should transcend the details and grasp the height and speed of the journey, the distance between here and there and the island of now between where and when.

Yeah, we’re miles above the thunderheads–doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the swelling curves of colossal power and beauty back lit by the retreating sun. With the lightest touch–so you won’t notice in back–I steer between the valleys trenching the boiling stacks and darting lightning exchanged between angry towers.

So much to go around; so much we go over but no matter what, we’re on the way as fast as we can practically get “there,” aren’t we? Might was well do more than just endure: let’s inhabit the ride.

We can do some wide-angle musing over the monolithic man madeΒ  greatness which, from the god’s-eye view, seems delicately intricate and much less significant on the grand scale of creation. That passes quickly, inevitably.

There’s always the seductive magnificence of disaster playing out on a epic scale below, a detailed tapestry scrolling below.

I mean, why not? It’s all between here and “home” anyway, between you and whenever, wherever you finally find home. Sure, your compass whether you realize it or not always points to and from–that’s how you know where you are, based on a straight line from where you’ve been.

But that doesn’t mean you have to stop “being” along the way, especially since often you get there sooner than you think due to factors like an unseen tailwind virtually undetected from 7 miles above the dirt, but pushing you along nonetheless. Then “there” comes abruptly, arriving in ways you might not have considered, bringing you home one last time.

Home, eventually, in the business of to and from has a certain finality; the journey a finite continuity. The flight is more than just science, although it’s every bit of that. The enduring legacy is the journey lived, the hours on the wing, and the appreciation of reality of flight, over and over, higher, faster and wide-eyed throughout.

For those who fly–that truly is home.


13 Responses to “Flying Home.”

  1. Bravo!!

    Welcome back.

    • Thanks! You know how summer gets–lots of running (15K on September 4), dissertation prep, gigging with the band, family.

      More regular publication will follow as we go into fall.

       Chris

      Sent from my iPhone, so please pardon the typos.

  2. Absolutely lovely, Chris! And have a safe trip home…

  3. Thank you, Chris! I think I needed this message right now. πŸ™‚

    Keep enjoying your busy summer. We’ll all wait around for regular postings in the fall.

  4. Man, this is prize-winning stuff. Pulitzer territory.

    Always enjoy it, though I rarely give written evidence of the fact.

  5. beautiful post…a nice reminder to enjoy the time between here and there πŸ˜‰


  6. Hello Captain Chris,

    Wonderful! For one moment I thought you stopped blogging, luckily I recieved an e-mail telling me you posted a new entry. Lovely indeed.

  7. No need for a comment beyond, “Thank you.” Much enjoyed and always read. Unless seriously moved, I’d rather keep the airways clear for the next post.
    Thanks also for including the next-to-last pic. You’ve been there before, it always hurts and the periodic reminders are necessary. Been there and it still hurts. It should hurt. Thanks, Chris.

    • Thank you, amigo. And tomorrow it’s back to lighter subjects. I’m flying, but it will auto-publish at 9CDT. Thanks for hanging in.

       Chris

      Sent from my iPhone, so please pardon the typos.

  8. blackwatertown Says:

    Kids like rock stars on tour – good image.

    • Once when my son was young, he was in First Class while I was crammed into the cockpit jumpseat. A Flight Attendant brought up the remains of his First Class dinner tray–“He said you might want to finish it.” he always remembered the roadies.

       Chris

      Sent from my iPhone, so please pardon the typos.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: