The Death of the Cloudscape

There are three places on this Earth where I do my best thinking, well two on Earth and one above it.

The first is walking a beach…any beach. It makes me feel small in a good way, like no problem is insurmountable.  But even if it was, who cares. I’m small. The problem is small. The universe is immense, and it doesn’t need me or my solutions.

The second, and forgive me if this is too much information, is in the shower. Hot water is a blessing, and I quite literally thank God for it each time I get under it, for I know how many people on this planet have not the luxury of it. Writers block…shower. Long day…shower. Chilled to the bone…shower. Lost or listless…shower.

And the third place, well that is high above the earth in an airplane, losing myself in thought while staring out over the endless cloudscapes. The shapes, the textures, the peaks and valleys, the swirls, the possibilities.  Again, small in a good way.

But the cloudscape has died. No this isn’t a reflection on climate change; it’s one on human behavior. I write today as I sit on a plane, a three-hour flight with a first class upgrade. Five rows in the cabin and all the shades pulled down when we boarded and left down throughout the flight save one.  Nineteen people lost in screens…movies, podcasts, work. And one, me, staring out at the clouds but unable to think of anything other than the fact that nineteen people probably want me to close my shade. I take solace in the fact that when I fly during the day now, I purposely choose the side of the plane opposite the sun and its intrusive glare. But still, the guilt.

There’s another article in here somewhere, I suppose, on Catholic guilt and how I am wired, perhaps too tightly. But that’s for another day. Do I take the window seat and risk upsetting someone by leaving the shade up or getting up to use the lavatory? Or should I just take the aisle, stare at a screen like everyone else, so as never to disturb anyone? The thought of claustrophobia usually prevails, and I chance the window seat and an open shade.

We are immeasurably better off from the efficiency our devices bring us, but we are the poorer for them.  We are immeasurably more productive, but we are perhaps less interesting for it.

I’m not by nature the most artistic or imaginative person. I’m a spreadsheet geek, but under the right conditions a sliver of hopeless romanticism about the world can come out of me.  And at 33,000 feet, well there I have imagination. I’m childlike in my thought that those clouds below could somehow act as the greatest of trampolines. I’m an explorer wondering what is at the edge of that horizon. I’m a lyricist musing about the many paths my life’s journey could have taken, could still take, and I’m a prayerful soul hoping I choose the right one.

Final approach…3B starts talking on his cellphone that should be in airplane mode. 7D applies perfume that we all now wear.

The wheels touch down, the familiar bounce, the harshness of the deceleration. The complimentary bottled water slides forward on the armrest tray. Shades still down, the airline industry no longer caring whether we can see outside the fuselage if, God forbid, it all goes wrong. Back on terra firma, I am once again a spreadsheet geek, a policy wonk, no longer a dreamer.

But I wish we all could go back to raising the shades, staring out windows, dreaming, thinking, romanticizing, and feeling small in the good way. We could use it.