Each time I fly in an airplane, I find myself mesmerized by the low-lying clouds below the plane. I find myself wishing I could live on one of those clouds.
I fantasize about living far above real life responsibilities and drama, while being close enough to still watch life unfold below me. At first, being on my own cloud seemed nice.
On my trip home from my niece’s graduation, I picked a cloud only for me, as I had always done on my flights. On my cloud, no major life decisions have to be made.
Of course, I cannot help change the world on my own cloud. Nor can I have my friends, family and community with me. I would really miss them.
As the plane continued to fly and more clouds appeared below, I selected a nice community of clouds for my friends and family to join me. We would all use our respective talents to sustain our little cloud community and life would be light and fluffy.
Again, though, what could we do to change the world in our own little cloud world?
My cloud-living fantasy was short-lived as the plane descended and eventually landed at the airport.
My brief trip to the hills of West Virginia reminded me of the benefits of “normal” mobility. It also reminded me the costs of having this “normal” mobility.
I spent a fair amount of time thinking about my decision to remove the pump, and felt sad for what I would be unable to do very well as a result.
I also spent a fair amount of time frustrated by the current limitations imposed by what keeps me appearing “normal.” It was good for me to see both sides of this decision so clearly in one weekend. I was reminded of why this was such a challenging decision.
Now, I am back home with my feet firmly planted on the warm ground of Florida. There is no cloud from which I can watch whatever happens next unfold. I wish there was.
I am sure there will be times when I attempt to have my head in the clouds throughout the process, but I must move forward just the same.