taking off.

i am taking off. i have been trying to convince myself to share my writing with the blogging world for almost a year now and i have finally begun to do so. pat on the back for courtney? yep. done.

here is my first post. my first posted essay. the following is a shorter version of and essay i wrote while sitting in the Salt Lake City Airport, observing and waiting...

Sounds echo in my mind coming from the monotone voice speaking over the heads of quick moving bodies--each body with a destination and a purpose. The leather seat imprinted with the heart and wings symbol, seems to increase in discomfort as I sit here. While similar in the sense that we travelers are all going some place and leaving some place else-- each of us is completely different with unique life stories, cultures, and destinations. I would be interested to hear the thoughts that are running through the minds of each of these people sitting and moving quickly around me.
The man sitting directly in front of me is buried in his novel entitled “Legend of Huma.” He appears to be completely enveloped in the words he reads on the page. He nods and drags his eyes from left to right across the page. With his glasses pulled down to the brim of his nose and his glasses case placed perfectly on his lap, his eyes continue to shift across the page. He also holds tightly to a small, note-filled paper, which I presume he is using for a bookmark. He wears a fancy silver watch on his right wrist, to which he seems to care nothing about. Time seems to have no meaning in his life at this moment.
Others around me appear to care only about the time, constantly checking their palm pilots and itineraries to be sure that their life is still in perfect order. In fact, their constant need to check the time is actually creating the chaos they are trying to avoid. The woman sitting to my right exemplifies this personality type. She sits up straight with perfect posture, highlighted hair, manicured nails, black high-heels, and coach purse sitting closely beside her. She is there with both hands holding two of her, most likely, prized possessions-- her Starbucks and Blackberry. She is having a conversation with the woman beside her. A conversation that I cannot hear, however I can see her nodding and pleasantly smiling as if she really isn't listening to what the woman beside her has to say. What thoughts could possibly be running through her mind? There is still an hour and thirty minutes remaining before our flight takes off. She is clearly on time and right on schedule, but still had a worried, stressed-out look painted across her face. Her mind is constantly fixed on the time, what is next in her schedule, and what she should be doing at the moment. She seems to be worried about wasting her time, but in all reality she is losing her time by spending a great number of her minutes worrying.
I begin boarding. Soon the flight attendants begin to pace the aisle checking for seatbelts, trays in the “upright and locked position”, and bags stowed underneath the seat. There was one flight attendant to take notice of; she had a young, toothy smile. She leaned her stick-thin body over to take a peek at the small infant on board. Her eyes bulged with proof that this woman was, without a doubt, “baby hungry.” To be baby hungry does not mean that your stomach longs to be eating children—that would be horrible. It means that the woman feels like she is in desperate need to have a child. This flight attendant smiles and walks around with a kick in her step. However, I feel she is unhappy with this time period in her life. Most other woman her age are married and possibly looking and planning for children. She is in a time she must enjoy and needs to enjoy before wishing and wishing for the future to come sooner.
We are about to take off. Four or five rows in front of me sat a small girl, only a couple years of age, my eyes could not see her. My ears could here the words which she spoke to her father, next to her. She was innocent, naïve, and adorable. She was like a piece of clothing, unspotted and unstained from the horrors of the world. I, and several others on the plane, heard her exclaim with excitement, “Daddy will you be driving the plane?” What an innocent, cute thing to say. She had no idea that her father was not the pilot and assumed he would be flying because that is how she looked up to him. She had brought her father to a level, set him on a pedestal and looked up to him above all other men in her life. If only she could freeze herself in this time and keep these same thoughts and feelings forever.
The flight and my airport experience turned out to be an interesting one. In the end, the thoughts that are rolling and playing in my head are simply the thoughts that I believe others may be thinking. As a writer, I feel I may be missing out on thoughts of my own by trying to only understand the thoughts of others. Could time that I am spending writing about the lives of others, be better spent understanding myself and my time, right now? Through reflection, I have come to realize that analyzing and trying to understand how others may be processing their thoughts only serves to strengthen mine. We are all made up of bit and pieces of what we learn from each other. Life is meant to be observed, as well as lived. The airport is one of the many places that serves me well for this type of education.