I’m currently in the air on my way home from a weekend away. I look out the window and I feel it: There is something magical about being  up here.

I feel comfortable up here; more than I have been on the ground. I write this as a reminder to myself when I feel rootless.

I look out the window and imagine life below me. What is life like out here, what’s being served for lunch, is someone crying or laughing down there?

It’s at times like this I’m thankful for being small in stature. Being able to maintain some level of comfort by the window is something to be thankful about especially if traveling is in your blood.

I love window seats. Staring out the window always puts me in a reflective and slightly pensive mood. Something that is hard to attain or find time to indulge in when you’re on ground running from daily duties to society demands. Being up here now allows me the space to be selfish without guilt.

I write and my heart is bursting with all sorts of emotions; joy, sadness, wonder. There must be something about the altitude that compounds and amplifies the emotions in the heart space. It’s almost as if it takes over the mind and releases everything we’ve stored or tucked away during the busy daily demands.

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It’s also only right now that I realize there are always tears involved when I fly.

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