departure from JFK (scheduled post)

Another scheduled post, written Wednesday night and predicting, Hari Seldon-style, how my Thursday is going.

Barring any sort of aviation disaster, delay, or other New York weirdness, I'm boarding my flight to Korea at this very moment. They're announcing the set of rows that includes my seat, far in the back of the plane. I'll be engaged my usual flight ritual: smiling blandly while preparing to walk down the jetway, waiting patiently inside the plane (still smiling blandly) while the passengers ahead of me take their time and settle into their places before allowing me to get to my own assigned seat. Adjusting the seat belt with difficulty, stretching it out to the maximum, and snapping the buckle home with sweaty, grunting effort. Hoping I won't have to take a crap while we're in flight (I hate those tiny bathroom stalls). Waiting patiently (probably still with that damn smile pasted on my face) while we do the preflight check and then taxi out to our runway. Anticipating the awesome acceleration of an aircraft that weighs more than several tyrannosaurs put together. Being pressed back into my seat as we take off. Looking down and watching my country dwindle into insignificance, feeling the problems I associate with home disappear. Looking ahead—physically looking toward the head of the cabin, but mentally looking toward the future. Flight is both concrete and abstract, action and metaphor.

I'm on my way. In more ways than one.


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