Flying over I-95 S. On Sunday Morning.

Posted on by Live & Learn

take-off-airplane-fly

It’s 10:00 am. This Sunday Morning. I’m in the car heading to LaGuardia to catch AA 1082, departing at noon.

Saturday was my Sunday. Sunday is my Monday.

I’m a flight and a half away from 2,000,000 miles, and that’s just on American Airlines. I’ve been around the earth 80 times. 80 times. Years of chasing Status, frequent flier status and upgrades. As Kalanithi explains, ‘a chasing after wind, indeed.’ How many Sunday nights in a hotel room, sitting on the bed in front of the TV, eating alone? 

The Boeing twin jet 737-800 taxis to its final turn, pauses, inhales to gather a head of steam, and then Roars down the runway.  I close my eyes and feel. Thrust. Power. Acceleration. Wheels rumbling down the tarmac. Faster. Faster. Faster. And then — calm, and lift off — the Iron Bird is up.  Wings tilt sharply left, and I lean. We surge upward, higher, the nose pointed to the heavens. The weight of the climb, a soft hand on the chest, the back, a magnet affixed firmly to the door of the refrigerator.  A sacred message as you head Up. Sit, wait, pause, be still.

I press the recline button and ease the seat gently backward.

The kids, no, now young adults, were both sleeping when I left the house this morning. They were up late last night, increasingly leading separate lives. Dad, clutching on a string. Oh, go ahead, wake them up, or at least give them a kiss on the cheek before you go.  I linger in front of Eric’s door, and then Rachel’s door. For some reason, I can’t bring myself to wake them. I walk down the stairs and out the door.  I settle in the car. Inhale. Melancholia, campfire smoke in my lungs.

I slip my earbuds in. My eye lids are heavy. I’m drifting in and out. The plane has leveled off.

I drift back to the car ride last night.

We’re heading to dinner.  43° F. Foggy. Light drizzle. Thoughts flicker on the traffic, on my prep for Sunday travel, to the warmth in the car — a cocoon. Eric is next to me. Mother and Daughter are in the back.  Dad and his family. Eric couldn’t have been more than 8 years old. I see him in the rear view mirror, his hands gripping his goggles and fins. He’s impatient. ‘How much longer Dad?’ It was Dad’s time with the kids, Sunday morning at the beach. Followed by a stop at Burger King for French Toast Sticks. Sunday Mornings. What is it with you? Zweig is called up: “I can’t really describe the condition to you, but it’s like a tropical disease, a raging, feverish, yet helpless nostalgia that sometimes comes over a man.”

I turn the volume up on the music, to drown out the mental chatter. And to pull me up. My right foot on the accelerator. My left hand on the wheel. My right hand spinning the dial in search of the right band with the right song. A chasing after wind, indeed.

Fleetwood Mac: The Chain.
30 seconds. Click.
Eagles: Peaceful Easy Feeling.
15 seconds. Click.
Queen: We Will Rock You
50 seconds. Click.
Tom Petty & Heartbreakers: Free Fallin’
75 seconds. Click.
Tom Petty & Heartbreakers: Refugee
45 seconds. Click.

A shrill siren call comes from the back seat:
Can’t you just let one song play?

I let Petty and Refugee run.
And it runs, and runs, and runs.
And I with it.
A chasing after wind, and I caught mine. For the moment.

You believe what you want to believe
You see you don’t have to live like a refugee

Notes:

29 thoughts on “Flying over I-95 S. On Sunday Morning.”

  2. As a former Sunday traveling warrior, I understand what you’re saying, and can only feel sympathy for all the lost opportunities with your family. I am so very happy that the Sunday Warrior days are long behind me.

    Thanks for sharing

  3. Another beautifully limned post, though I am filled with melancholia just reading this, pal. More than anything, I hope that, *sooner* rather than later, you have the opportunity to “take the off ramp” to a less hectic existence, where you can breathe deeply and fully every day, where you can not only hesitate by your (growing) children’s door as you head out, but enjoy a lazy breakfast with them. I guess, in sum, I wish peace for you, because I believe in my deepest heart that you as much as anyone deserve the chance to step back, relax and enjoy all the blessings in your life….

    1. Thank you for the kind words Lori. I am working on it (‘step back, relax and enjoy blessings”). And feel that I am a lot further than where I started.

  6. At the end of the day “We can believe what we want to believe ” but the truth will always expose our deep regrets. You write so well and do lead a very busy life! I agree with Mimi, kiss those children, asleep and awake! 🙂

  7. Dave, I love your blog. You took me down my own memory lane. I’m glad I’m grounded from my days of air travel and trying to (kind of) reach for George Clooney’s Up In the Air mileage status. Boarding the 6am flight to New York meant heading to the airport at 4:30am. Since I make it a point of saying I love you then kissing and hugging my sons, it took an emotional toll not waking them up. When my now Marine Cpl got his license I enticed him to drive me to airport and enjoy to Infinti for the week. He just had to remember to pick me up. Dave, kiss them, hug them, tell them I love you. Trust me, they will cherish your wake up call.

    1. Thank you Joel. Glad to hear that you are grounded. Love your drive with your Son to the airport. Wonderful. Thank you for sharing your heart warming comment Joel.

  8. I love your writing, David. And this one has a tone of familiarity. Too many Sundays, weekends. Only that I always went in to kiss my son as long as he lived at home…whatever time my departure and whatever his age…just because on my shuttles around the globe the iron bird usually provided the safest legs of the journey. I agree with others – kiss those children!

  9. I feel like a voyeur sometimes, peeking into the Life of a Man, the strangest of creatures, unknowable but for these sharp slashes of insight.

  12. this is lovely, david. and a bit wistful. my hope for you is that you once again reclaim your sundays, in the place you most want to be.

  13. Oh how that has caught me. Such a painful tug right at the loneliness for home snd family that refused to let go, thiis entire past week. Thank you. Wow. Tears.

  14. Really wonderful, David…and I can feel it all. I find myself so close to tears so much of the time lately, as I grow older, as my children grow older…as I see all the changes taking place, the sand in the hourglass settling in my heart…and forcing me to see life so differently. Anyway, beautiful words from you once again.

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