8:06pm

Takeoff. The endless gray runway loosens its grip on the front wheel of our plane and I suddenly cannot continue reading any longer. I’ve left home before, countless times of minimal significance, with takeoffs and landings little more than gates one passes on his way from here to there. But as we pull away from both ground and home, I become reflective about the past few days, at least before peripheral vision takes center-stage.

8:13pm

The lefthand wing blocks my view of the setting sun, and I start to think. Where I am and where I’ve come from, where I’m headed and where everyone else will be. My trip was, at least on its surface, standard. Family, friends, the warmth of home. But with each passing day, each dark slumber silence, I was left alone with my own thoughts, and I fell once more into the ditch of constant analysis. Words like crossroads and pinnacle, settling and patience, seeped slowly into the shallow depths of my mind, paralyzing my ability to think beyond them. But the meanings behind these words pale only in comparison to their questionable applicabilty to my current state.

8:29pm

Above what little cloudcover Southern California owns, the gentle chatter of my fellow passengers smoothes the murmured hum of muffled engines. Like most flights before this one, I can’t help but appreciate the arbitrary cohort with whom I travel, each with his or her own stories, joys, worries, complications. The anonymity of it all jerks me towards more comfortable thoughts of close friends and loved ones, some aging, some growing up, but all changing with unstoppable speed. Suddenly the peculiar progression of relationships gained and lost over time sparks in the distance, and I start to wonder how it all ended up this way.

8:47pm

An endless sunset breathes it’s final breaths of shimmered light, losing it’s nightly battle for attention to a dotted sea of man-made glow. As time passes, slow in realtime but fleeting in hindsight, I find one image permanently charred into the back of my eyes - it’s little more than a cinematic effect, one whose name I can neither recall nor care to investigate. But nonetheless, it’s there. Music plays behind a wide angle shot of the main character, singular as he stands in focus, surrounded by anonymously blurred people passing him from both front and back at unparalleled paces. I see it often, the lone actor’s face frozen with perpetual burden, trying but unable to slow the speed of life around him. The scene continues as the actor resigns to worn gesticulations of predictable action and little more.

9:05pm

My stomach sinks to a depth far below my cushioned seat as our plane descends closer to a different world than that which we so recently left behind. I can feel the slow start of routine motion, of work and play, and unbound freedom. An unexpected comment by the woman sitting beside me snaps me back into the present, and I begin to fumble the words of my response. In some three idle minutes, we share friendly words and bite-sized bits of information, enough to sort one another into coherent crates of first impression. Momentary silence ends our conversation, and our attention shifts back to our respective directions, left and right.

9:17pm

My window exchanges scattered light atop the windblown bay for equally- spaced bulbs, giving way to the soft touch of rubber to runway. Here it begins, another two plus week visit to a place which, after more than six full years, still lacks the warmth or soul of home. Complaint is neither justified nor appropriate, for this is my path and by no means is it regrettable. For fear of stepping onto the jetway with excessive baggage in hand, I begin to look forward to the comfort of familiar faces, unfinished progress, and the little surprises along the way.