I wanted to write at least one post during my flight, using some numbers from the flight data on the screen built into the chair in front of me to give some context to the craziness of flying, but that didn’t happen. Instead, I spent my time destroying all the high scores in the In-flight Trivia game and watching a majority of The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel or whatever the name of that excessively titled film is. The movie is great and I love Maggie Smith more than anything in the world, but that name is too much for me. The fact that the flight was too short for me to finish the movie is also too much for me.
Anyways, I wrote this small piece in a notebook like a year ago about how absurd the concept of flying in an airplane is if we really think about it. I think I lost the notebook, but I still think about the ideas behind that piece. The plane travels at 35,000 feet in the air, which is more than most people can run in several hours. It moves at 600 miles per hour, which is around 10 times as fast as most cars go on certain highways. The temperature and lack of oxygen outside of the plane could kill anyone very easily, yet everyone inside enjoys watching movies that were created from around the world that lies super far below them.
It just seems so absurd to me how calm the interior seems while the outside is such an inhospitable place. This absurdity underlies my love of airplanes. The farness from everything and disconnect from the traditional existence is so liberating and entertaining. For a few hours, you can’t be reached by anyone not on the plane (unless you pay an exorbitant rate for wifi) and you enjoy scenic views while moving rapidly across the world. Isn’t that just amazing?