running wild among all the stars above I'm not a great flyer. The more I fly, the more afraid I become. Especially if it's been a while since my last trip, before or during takeoff, it isn't unusual for me to morbidly contemplate my death in some fashion. I think about who will have to go through my things, who will take care of my cat, who I haven't seen or spoken to recently, and about the things I have yet to do.

Strangely I can also find flights a very peaceful experience. After you reach cruising altitude and they start the movie - the people are all subdued, maybe the cabin lights are dimmed and there is only a few soft lights dotting the cabin among those who choose to read.

I try to get a window seat. I love watching the country pass by - initially unrecognizable barren landscape, then as the sun sets, the clusters of orange lights signifying a town or maybe a farmhouse somewhere.

I put on my iPod and get lost in my thoughts. Somehow I feel more connected to "real life" up there above it all. Flying makes more seem possible - the ease with which we can join the lives of friends and family half a world away, if even just for a few moments.

I'm home.  | ¶ 3:49 a.m.