on the plane from Boston to Chicago
I never realized until today how much I love take-off. Maybe it's because it's always the same. No matter what language the flight attendants speak, the planes all speak a common tongue.
I speak it, too.
I may not be knowledgeable about the inner workings of the engine, or understand the science behind flight. But I know the racing-pulse of the engines, remember the thrill of lift-off, anticipate the glee of peering down on the Earth from far above. It's a marvel, yes, but a familiar one. I've been doing this since I was born. Perhaps it's in my blood, to some extent. Born to an aviation mechanic, raised under an international and military flight path, growing up as a frequent stand-by passenger-- I am a comfortable and usually-happy fly-er. Oh sure, there's a bit of nerves before flight, sometimes during the flights (especially at landing)-- but I think that's true of any relationship.
And we are friends-- flight and I . . .