Emotions

Excitement

After months or even years of planning, an endless parade of pop-up ads, television commercials and endorsements from friends, co-workers and family about the most wonderfullest and amazing time that I'll ever have, the big day arrives. I've said good-bye to classmates, co-workers and friends in the neighborhood, some of whom gather for the big send off as my things are finally loaded in to the car and we leave for the airport. I can barely contain myself as each minute brings me closer to the exotic world of the airport, flag airlines from all over the world cooling their heels before the next day-at-the-office departure to some destination that until then was only words on a page.

My enthusiasm infuses even the most hardened airport worker as they see the "glamour" of travel in my wide-eyed excitement and, if only for that moment with me, get caught up in the magic once more as they move me through the system to get to my departure gate. Such strange and wonderful machines that crank out paper documents, baggage tracing tags, or whistle, wheeze, bing and pop as they x-ray my possessions and I, sometimes with Star Wars wands, sometimes with puffs of air, all part of some elaborate initiation dance in to the exclusive world of the world traveler.

Elation

The plane appears to be smiling in the sun thanks to the curve of the nose and the style of the corporate paint. A burst of sun on one of the cockpit windows winks at me knowingly: Dude, this flight is gonna rock! The smell of old coffee and lavatory "blue juice" attacking the senses as if it were "new car" smell as I find my window seat and do my best not to rock back and forth in barely contained anticipation. I feel as if riding piggy-back on a great motorcycle, my arms the wings themselves flung gracefully in to the air as we kings of the world surge in to the sunlit afternoon sky. Drinks and food for hundreds from a kitchen even a small apartment would find inadequate for the job? How do they DO it?

Boredom

Three hours of perfect stillness. The slow crawl of the land below dulls the senses, not even a bit of turbulence to shake things up a bit. I'd seen the movie and couldn't read another page of my book without falling dead asleep. I'd asked for as many sodas as I dared without upsetting the flight attendants, disturbing my neighbors with constant trips to the bathroom or worrying what Mom would say to all that sugar. Bored but still pent up with energy to burn, I fidget, unable to get comfortable because I, well, want something to happen! We're flying, I want to scream; there's got to be more to it than this?

Anticipation

The descent. The ears pop. Things outside begin to return to their normal size. A familiar landmark passes underneath announcing we have made it to our destination. The wings discombobulate themselves - air brakes deploy, flaps extend, ailerons bounce up and down and finally, the shudder and thud of unseen landing gear dropping in to position to reunite us with terra firma. I can hardly see out for the smudge of my nose against the window and the fog of my breath but I'm glued to the doings outside as the runway slips beneath us. Toes curled, cheeks clenched, we kiss the asphalt and roll smoothly to the nearest off-ramp for the parade to our arrival gate. I'm exhausted but sated. After perfunctory but profuse thanks from the crew every step of the way to baggage claim the outside world is waiting, happy to see me and that I made it safely.

Anxiety

After months or even years of planning, after the build-up towards the great day, the grand farewells and the day of travel itself, it's over. Curbside. I look back over my shoulder, wondering despite the evidence of my new surroundings if it all actually happened. Where is the fanfare for the end of the trip? I want to wave at some overworked and in a hurry employee as if to say hey, don't you remember me? We just ... flew together.

Driving away from the airport I look in to the sky as another airplane roars in to the setting sun. I close my eyes and smile. Whoever is on that plane is having their own king-of-the-world moment right then and, be it a one hour commute or a 14 hour haul across endless seas, I can't wait to do it again.

Gotta go.

The Optimist Bucket List - Item 6

I am at one of life's crossroads where limitations are becoming more and more defined. Some things you simply are no longer supposed to do but you can either use the rejection as motivation or can the whole idea because the rules won't change at the end of the day.

In every amusement park on the planet there are signs that tell the youngsters they have to be this tall in order to ride the big kid rides. In their case they simply have to be patient, wait a few years and add some poundage before they can tackle the "Devil's Pet" or some other such rollercoaster thrill.

I'm middle aged. Not young anymore but not yet ready for the knackers' yard either so age isn't the issue here. I'm also fat but here again this is not necessarily the primary concern for what I want to do. I can lose the weight I'd love to be rid of but would probably still come in as simply being too big for what I want to accomplish. I want to go sky diving.

In the film "The Bucket List" Morgan Freeman's character famously yelled at Jack Nicholson for being completely out of his mind for talking him in to going sky diving. Then he screamed like a school girl as he and his tandem partner jumped out of the airplane. Freeman's character is concerned with living out the remainder of his time on Earth with grace, humility and dignity for past accomplishments. He's content to rest on his laurels; he's old and he's proud of it. Old people don't do crazy things like jump out of airplanes. They don't get to be old by doing dumb sh-tuff.

Item 6 on my Bucket List is one of the few that I share with the film. For a one-time jump including instructions and a tandem diver I have yet to see the cost exceed $300. A favorite expression of mine is having "wasted more money on a whole lot less" so expense is not the issue either. No, it was reading further in to the fine print that I found my institutional rejection: most diving companies will not accept candidates greater than 250 pounds.

You've seen the cartoons - the chute opens at the critical moment only to find it is actually an ACME anvil or perhaps to shred beyond repair, snap its lines and go skittering in to the atmosphere, leaving Daffy Duck screaming for Jesus all the way down to the ground. Where's Bugs "Ain't I a Stinker" Bunny? Floating blithely to the ground chewing a carrot and holding a pair of scissors. Scissors or no, for me the effect would be the same.

Injuries are common occurrences when it comes to novice sky divers who didn't get the landing quite right. They broke a bone, so what? Those injuries and stories are common-place; they lived and they have one heck of a memory to share. Few companies, however, are interested in risking their equipment, employees and reputation to heft the likes of me in to the sky unsure of whether or not I will pancake myself and my diving partner several feet in to the dirt as soon as we touch down. Think Wile E. Coyote crawling from the crater he made at the bottom of the canyon.

Clearly I have some work and convincing to do. Maybe when I show up for my dive I'll bring Mrs. Butterworth with me.

Gotta go!