Open Letter to Man’s Mind

Inaction is my most uncomfortable state of being; especially when what I want to do most in the world is move. I felt this yesterday when I was notified of my stepfather’s unexpected passing and knowing that over 1700 miles separated me from my grieving family. I completed the task of booking the earliest possible flight home and spent the rest of the evening pacing the floors of my mind. At the gate I watched my flight’s crew check in and walk the ramp to the plane and I thanked every one of them for pursuing what may have been a childhood dream to fly, completing endless hours of flight school, and logging countless hours of flight time; enduring what I’m sure have been pay cuts and furloughs but still forging ahead with hands on the throttle. I thanked the flight attendants walking to the gate with coffee in hand and sleepy eyes, for waking up with the alarm or wake-up call and making it to the crew shuttle and thus, to the airport on time to keep my flight from being delayed. As I sat in my seat, I felt the first shred of peace as the powerful thrusters came to life; finally moving me at a rate of speed I could live with and had been waiting for hours before. The engines continued their roar under my chair; pumping with fuel, the blood of countless years of engineering, design, and testing from those who, as young men and women, may have bent over a desk at MIT, working on a physics problem or calculation. I felt the brains, sweat, and committment of many, driving my body down a runway and eventually into the air, making an enemy of gravity and lifting me swiftly closer to my mother’s grieving arms.

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