Plane Delirium

A contribution from Jim, written on the flight here:

Plane Delirium

Once again I find myself in a winged, composite tube hurtling through space and unable to sleep.  Random, barely noted thoughts that normally skedaddle (yes, I am bringing this word back) out of consciousness now take the forefront.  As the saying goes, “ The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.”  The step(s) to this journey, I must admit were mainly Lisa’s.  She takes on, much to her dismay, the organizing features of these trips.  I simply go along for the ride.  So our “journeys” are slightly different or at least the beginning steps are.  I have long abandoned any pretense of organizational ability…the reality is I am just plumb-tuckered out.  For too many years I have painfully struggled with trying to maintain some semblance of productive focus……wait, what was I saying?...oh yeah, The thing is, we are all called upon to tap  into our less-developed selves in order to bring balance and harmony into our lives.  I’m thinking that balance and harmony are not all they are cracked up to be, especially if it is at the expense of vitality and in the momentness.  Sometimes…just sometimes it feels like the trade-off is unfavorable.  Yet here I am, 36,000 feet over ‘merica headed to what promises to be another life-affirming if not life-changing adventure.  This didn’t just happen.  I am the beneficiary of extraordinary pre-flight planning: everything from poring over the confusing array of flight options, to prepping the house to receive our trade guests, to communicating over email and Skype (I reluctantly make an appearance), creating to-do lists that never get read by me until the last minute, reading travel books, scoping out sight-seeing options.  It’s a lot of work, and I do what I can, well maybe as little as I can.  The truth is, and I hate to play the age card, I’ve come as far as I can in the realm of sustained attention and organization, which, to my great credit, is quite far.  I have had the best mentor possible, someone who accepts me, cuts me a lot of slack even if it means taking on a greater share of the burden, rarely letting the frustration of it all deteriorate into anger.  I suppose I could dip into my stash of adderall, which sits in a drawer unused, in an attempt to level the playing field but I think, I’d rather just embrace who I am and hope that I’m worth taking this journey with despite the drawbacks.  Once we land, I’m 110 percent present.

Once we land…that cannot happen soon enough.  Right now I am compartmentalized into a sub-human seating, deep in the bowels of economy class.  Much like my forefathers shackled on the good ship Amistad, oh wait…I’m not black, nonetheless, it’s just as uncomfortable I’m sure.  My back hurts from an ill-advised set of overhead squats; there is no space in the seat pocket for my laptop or the three magazines I bought at Hudson Bay. I’m trying to eat my chicken salad while balancing said magazines on my lap.  I miss magazines.  Getting news and porn on the web is all well and good but, I’m an old-fashioned boy and I still derive pleasure from the simple ways, much like my Pennsylvanian forefathers, oh wait...I’m not Amish, nonetheless, I harken back to what I still think of as my greatest find: a pile of Playboys discovered while dumpster-diving with my childhood friend Gilbert.  It was a twelve-year-old’s treasure trove, a soft-pornucopia of womanly delights.  We poured over every page trying to discern, dare I say, decipher the secrets of womanhood that hid behind the strategically placed fern, string of pearls or modestly bent knee. Inspiration comes in many forms and to us, those magazines were inspirational if not aspirational.  Now I’m picking food bits off of Zack Efron’s crotch on the cover of Men’s Fitness and with all due respect to Mr. Efron’s considerable charm he’s no Candy Fontaine or Eva LaCross.  Magazines, along with flying, have lost their allure.  Accessibility, unfortunately, can often lead to indifference. Constant stimulation, unimpeded access is registered by our brains as unimportant, to the point that the brain erases it from our awareness.  Fighting for access however, whether dumpster-diving or trip-planning, creates excitement and, yes, focus. Although it may be too late in planning for this trip, I am not ready to give up my struggle to find focus.  The loss of access would be too great and my world, rather than expanding would become as limited as the seat of this plane.