It’s about noon on Thursday and I’m flying home from Memphis. Probably somewhere over northern Colorado right about now; some sort of frozen mountainous paradise/wasteland lies below. I think when you’re on a plane, the country is reduced to flat parts and mountains — a strange dualism that doesn’t hint at the true bizarreness and complexity of what is really down there on the ground. Like the CNN red state/blue state maps that portray us as one-dimensional colors. Of course everyone knows that only the red states are one-dimensional.
I don’t know how many times I’ve been on an airplane in the last four years since I got the corporate whore gig. 100 maybe? 200? I’ve flown more than 200,000 miles with United Airlines alone. Looking out the windows never gets old. Since I live in the most beautiful state in the country, coming home has a few extra rewards even before I land — Baker, Adams, Hood, Ranier … majestically reflecting the sun on their snow-capped peaks that jut out from grey backgrounds like the first few stars to appear in the evening sky. Yeah that’s right, I made a 1337 simile; suck on it.
So here I am floating again above the mountains and the farms. Unconnected. It’s simple up here. The only place I can go during work hours where you can’t find me with your cell phones and your text messages and your emails and your IMs and your whatnot. Work is done here. Books read, naps taken, and music enjoyed as more than background noise. They say this gets old but it’s working for me so far. But of course, we come down, we corporate whores all, occasionally to visit upon the land. And things get complicated again.