Trip home cont.

On my second flight home (D.C. to Detroit), I spent a lot of time trying to avoid the guy sitting next to me, who was determined to share his entire life story accompanied by home videos of his sons doing cartwheels in their pajama pants. After hearing about his 20 year high school reunion and his sister-in-law, I decided I had enough information about this stranger. I closed my eyes while he was telling me about his job at some computer company.

As I drifted off, I realized why I love flying. Aside from the people-watching of course.

Once you get past all the lines and annoying people on cell phones, you get on the plane and buckle up. For a certain amount of time, everyone sits there strapped in, technology disabled, sitting in a confined area. This is perhaps the only time we are really forced to turn everything off and sit in one spot. My favorite part is being above the clouds. It's almost as if everything disappears when you get that high. The clouds are so entrancing that I usually end up thinking about the shapes they make or the color of the sky instead of anything serious. The best part is, no matter what the day is like on the ground, whenever you fly above the clouds the sky is always sunny and blue. You can forget about the groggiest Boston rain storm after you rise above the clouds.

The same phenomenon occurs when I take the commuter rail to see Steve. Sitting in the seats, I forget about all the drunken decrepits riding next to me and become entranced by everything moving across through the window. In both planes and trains, someone else is taking you to your destination. You don't have to grip a steering wheel anticipating a kamikaze Michigan driver about to shoot out of nowhere. You can relax and enjoy the ride. Take a break. Think about nothing. Enjoy the scenery.

Of course none of this is relevant if you have an aisle seat, are squashed between two overweight travelers, or have a bipolar drunk telling you about the three-headed garden gnome waiting to pick him up in Worcester.

People in Worcester are weird.