Window seats always make me pensive
I’m currently writing to you from seat 33F. My friends and I decided to spend our last weekend abroad in the south of France. Our plane is delayed (we’re still grounded as I write this) and it is taking the long way around because of the Paris Olympics commencement that is happening tonight. Apparently, we are flying through Belgium, Pisa, and Rome(?). This is essentially a comprehensive European tour in three hours and 30,000 feet above the ground. Feeling quite grateful for my window seat.
When I was packing for the trip, I was debating whether to bring my book or my journal. I am trying to get out of the habit of bringing (what it seems like) all my knick-knacks into my bag. When I bring my book, I find myself wanting to jot something in my journal. When I bring my journal, I find sick and tired of my thoughts and wanting to surround into someone else’s words. All being said, I brought my journal.
The sun is staring directly into my eyes and “Here Comes the Moon (Demo Version)” by George Harrison is playing. Sometimes, life feels so fitting I wonder if even little things such as this are fated.
Ever since my visit to Yoko Ono’s exhibit at Tate Modern, I have been gravitating towards The Beatles, their backstory and naturally, their music. When walking down the street on my own, I find myself mouthing the lyrics. I hope I don’t seem too scary to oncoming pedestrians as I lip-sync to “Octopus Garden,” but even if I come off as a madman talking to themselves, I am still happily listening to my song.
When I got my license in high school, I discovered my first taste of autonomy as I drove through town. Anywhere that I could drive to— that didn’t require a highway (I’m scared of driving too fast) — was within reach. However, LA is a car-centric city so only the neighboring towns were my oyster. In college, I frequented San Francisco by myself. It is a simple bus ride to get across the bay and then I find myself in the Mission dawdling on those streets with the colorful buildings.
I have been feeling very self sufficient for the pasts few weeks. I’m very proud of myself actually; I don’t feel like a marionette doll and I like that. I went to the seaside and heard the waves crash, visited a few exhibits, walked from north to south, bird-watched at the park, et cetera. Though I’ve been reflecting on my ongoing desire lately, which is to become a cloud or dandelion in my next life. I want to be carried by the wind and drift around for a finite amount of time and then get covered by soil or precipitate into the ocean. This desire is so antithetical to my love of autonomy, yet it sounds pretty sweet to my ears.
On my adventures, I go on long blocks where I don’t really talk. There must be cobwebs forming in my esophagus, as when I finally break this spell, I have a hard time finding my voice. It’s somewhere lost within my lungs. When I sit on a bench and watch the clouds drift by (I’m envious), I wish I was in the company of my loved ones. My journal has been filling up too quickly. And sometimes I want neither my book nor my pink Leuchtturm. I want to hear their voices, their laughters— even if it were just the echoes of it— over this vast ocean!!
I’ve always prided myself on my independence. But perhaps I have thrusted myself so far to that “side,” it is hard to admit at moments of loneliness. I want my happy moments and memories to live within someone else’s head and heart, I don’t want to just be the only one to experience it!
It is 9:13pm and the flight is about to take off. I have a week left until I go back to Los Angeles and frankly I am ready to become a puddle-ed version of myself. Sadly, the sun is setting into its lavender hues so I may not be able to make the best observations of the European sites from 30,000 feet above. But the sunset was pretty.
Ciao
Shannon
Team no highway
wow..