The Journey

I've always considered flying a utilitarian act--from here to
there, nothing more. As my friend Nathan says, "an airplane is a big
flying bus." I've never understood those who choose the window seat,
who "ooh and aah" at the clouds, or who compare vehicles on the ground
to insects; "Look Henry, those cars look like ants!" said with such
sticky sweet glee I have to refrain from throwing my empty 1/2" square
peanut wrapper in the direction of the offending voice. No, I prefer the aisle--no amount of enthusiastic offers of Sprite can shake me
from my mission; which is, simply, catch my flight, sit with easy
access to both the lavatory and my carry-on, and get off as soon as
the cheery, robotic voice of the flight attendant announces that it's
safe for me to do so--easy. I'm what you might call "a destination
guy." Today, however, crammed against the window due to circumstances
beyond my control; when the pilot announced the Golden Gate Bridge
would be coming up on the left, I decided to cock my head and look out
the window. The sun was just rising on the horizon, Venus still
brightly shining in the dawn sky--it was, I must admit, GORGEOUS.
This, I've decided is a good lesson for me--especially at the
beginning of a cross-country drive--to pay attention to the journey; I
may just see something spectacular.