There is something intriguing about going to an airport, boarding a plane, and ending up in a completely different environment. To me, flying is a humbling, slightly nervewracking experience. Up above the clouds, you realize just how small your hometown is, let alone how small you are. Physically though, I'm not talking about importance wise. Like just in retrospect in scalar quantity we are so tiny! There is so much more world beyond our scope of vision.

I've flown a decent amount for someone my age, but there are usually decent gaps in my aircraft travel. In the span of one month, I will have needed the laws of aviation to reach my destination twice. Before that, I flew solo to New Mexico to visit relatives a year and a half ago.

Every single time the plane shifts from the ground to the air, I am in awe (and a little nauseous). You can explain the mechanics of flight to me all you want— I will still maintain a sense of child-like wonder surrounding the activity. I could watch airplanes take off all day long. Honestly, I could pack a picnic and sit watching the awe-inspiring machines do what they do every day of the year with a wonder that never wavers.

While many use their time in the sky to sleep, catch up on work, read a good book, or watch a movie, I utilize my time a bit differently. Unfortunately, when I'm nervous, my mind wanders rapidly and my thoughts dance around with little continuity. Most of the time I stare out the window and wonder how this giant metal bird stays so high in the sky. I also tend to wonder how many other people share my nervous mind wandering. To calm myself down, I usually play some music and set my stopwatch so I know how much time has passed. I use the stopwatch as a pacer for how much of the flight is left, but I check it every five minutes, thinking half an hour has passed.

After I spend half an hour contemplating how the thing I am currently sitting in doesn't plummet to the ground immediately after takeoff, my mind wanders to the other common airplane wonders that freak me out a bit less.

Why do they still serve peanuts on airlines if the peanut allergy epidemic is so widespread? Why do they fill our cups so full of ice on this bumpy airbus? Do they want me to spill all over my tray table so the next passenger can curse my name? Shouldn't there be a better way to calm down crying babies on long flights? Why does the person behind me think my armrests are their footrests?

Flying at night is easily the best time to fly. They turn the lights down and looking over the lights on the cities makes them seem peaceful and at ease, even if in reality they're dirty and going through turmoil. Flying through a thunderstorm is the worst time to fly. You can tell me turbulence is like potholes in the sky all you want, but I prefer my bumpy transportation already on the ground.

I can't say I love flying, as that would be a lie. I always breathe a bit easier when I realize my time in the metal bird in the sky is done for a bit. I can say that flying intrigues me to no end. I will never understand it, but I will always appreciate the dynamics of it. Explain the mechanics to me, but I will always look at it as something that requires a bit of magic.