I flew to Los Angeles on Thanksgiving Day and again on Christmas Eve. This morning, I put my luggage away for the second time in three weeks. There was a time when I would have groaned that that was way too much flying for me, but right now I am, improbably content.
Last week, I took the picture of a few seagulls who wanted to be my new friends (I was snacking indiscreetly) and I realized why flying has become so easy. All I was doing was going from one nest to the other.
There always seems to be a reason for flying - you're going somewhere either to learn, earn, celebrate, mourn, tour, visit or spectate. And then you go home. Flying from nest to nest though, removes the angst of travel for me. In California, reunions are romantic, in Hawaii, familial. There are routines and rituals in both places but they're not the same. It's like picking up a different instrument to play the same song.
No big philosophical light bulb moment here. I've just realized that my private world remains intact, here and there. How far can I go and still be able to say, flew away twice but still here?