freedom in flying

There's something about flying that brings with it a deep sense of freedom. I don't know what it is really, but the peace I feel as I wait for my flight number to announced, the absolute state of relaxation I feel as I sit through the protocols of airplane safety is, truly, profound. Maybe it's because I know that everything I really need in life is "safely stowed under the seat in front of me" or buried beneath the belongings of my traveling companions in the cargo hold under my feet. Perhaps my sense of freedom comes from knowing that all obligations, all commitments, all of my daily duties have been left behind with Pearson International Airport.

Currently: Flying 482 mph at 36084 feet, Toronto to Vancouver. Home to Home: 2pm

I crave this sense of freedom that I feel right now. I have longed for it since returning to Ontario. And I find it ironic -- not that this freedom comes as I return to BC, but that it comes to me while in limbo - while flying thousands of feet above the earth that forces me to make decisions. Any decisions I make right now cannot affect my immediate life - except for the stupid decisions that cause emergency landings and terrorist interrogations. But those daily decisions that we make everyday have no impact on life when in the air: Should I get up today? Should I fill my car with gas? Should I print that job now, or wait for a more 'convenient' time? Do I make that phone call? Send that email? Talk to that person on MSN? None of those decisions can be made here. There truly is a sense of freedom in flying.

Plans. Our world seems to revolve around plans. We've got a 'plan' for reducing emissions in Canada. We've got a 'plan' for Iraq. We've got a 'plan' to solve the AIDS crisis in Africa. Those are the big things, but we're told we need to make plans for our lives. Plan your retirement now! Plan your child's education finances now! Plan your budget. Plan your funeral. Plan your holidays. Plan your day, right down to the quarter-hour. It seems there is no escaping our culture's need to plan.

Maybe I rant against our need for plans right now because I have none. No plans. Naughta. It seems that the things I plan end up finding a wrench in the gears at some point anyway. I'm trying to remember what the Bible says about plans. Oh yeah: Commit your plans to the Lord, and they will succeed. [Why do I remember that?] How much time do we spend planning our next plan and not committing our plans to the One who will allow fruit to come from them? It's a lesson I continue to learn. Over and over and over again. Okay, so it's a lesson that goes in one ear and out the other. Over and over and over again. And yet, I continue to plan my plans and assume that they are okay because they seem right to me, they seem like a logical next step in this plan-driven world I find myself in. And it feels right, dang it.

Does this all mean that we are really meant to live life on impulse? And does that really just boil our existence down to the age-old concept to fight or flight? If that's true, my impulses are locked in flight mode. Ha. The irony of typing this as I sit on Westjet flight #803 is, well....ironic. Maybe it's time to fight. Maybe we really are meant to, at some point, stop acting on impulse and fear, buckle down and strap the boxing gloves on. The question is: which battles do I choose to fight, and on which battleground? And perhaps the bigger question is: will I choose to fight alone?