I cried when I left the house heading for the airport. Maybe it was that last kiss goodbye from my newfoundland pup. Or perhaps it was just that air flights always seem to herald a time of transformation. In the air I relinquish all control as I float between worlds and time. I wonder if I will be the same person when I land, or have I somehow shape-shifted while reality is suspended in the air.
While I am not afraid of flying, I have always had a mixture of trepidation and anticipation at the beginning of a trip. Even short journeys often feel mythic, or perhaps mystic. In the air I leave behind my list of errands and tasks and daily responsibilities and open my heart to possibilities. Even though there are plans in place on the ground, right now there is only the potential of an adventure in an unknown land.
In the air I wonder if I have the courage to live my dream. Will I walk off the plane as a famous, or infamous, author? A woman who is loved and cherished? Someone who has helped change lives and perhaps left a legacy of wonder and magic in the hearts of her family and friends? In the air I reset my inner compass and pledge to navigate toward this vision.
As the plane descends and reality attempts to insert itself, I cling to the vision of who I want to be. I practice this persona as I walk off the plane, thank the crew, and stride through the airport. I imagine that I look mysterious or joyous or powerful or beautiful…or perhaps all of the above. Confidence radiates from my smile, even if I do not yet feel it. Someday, after some wild flight of fancy in the air, I will feel it, and write it, and live it. Just wait.