LAX ✈️ IAD || Notes from seat 24F
I'm writing this from 36,000 feet, an hour away from landing in Washington, D.C. I'm speaking on a panel at AWP tomorrow about the business of turning books into film.
The light is fading outside the window next to me, and it feels like I haven't been on a plane in forever.
I get so anxious before I travel, getting all the childcare lined up, the house organized, everything set in place to run on its own while I step out of my life for a few days.
The process spins me out every time. I think: I can't do this. Can't leave my girls, my life. Can't. Shouldn't. I'm afraid. Every time, I think these things.
All the way up until take-off. And then there is the feeling of the wheels lifting off the earth, the great weight of this machine, suddenly seemingly weightless.
The edge of the contingent slips away, and the horizon spreads out into oblivion. And then finally, the undeniable reminder that our lives are as big, or as small, as we choose for them to be.