Stop

I used to think life on land stood still while I flew. How could things even happen while with the seat belt fastened? The seat belt sign has lit. Please go back to your seat, and continue to wait like a docile cow until you reach your destination, ironically far away from your destiny. Remember, smoking is prohibited.

It turns out that reality is exactly the opposite. Time stops for YOU, the passenger, for the duration of the flight. Nothing takes place in YOUR life during the miserable hours in which you cram your body to fit on the anatomically incorrect receptacles you are assigned to.

You stop aging, your old ideas freshen up and present themselves to you anew (subconscious racism, homophobia, the traditional role of women in society), hair stops growing and falling, bacteria in your mouth multiplies while your immune system ignores your body's cry for help.

When you manage to land, in another place and at a different hour, people close to you may notice you changed a little. Less patient, slightly easier to get you annoyed, uncapable of finding humor where others see substantial comedic value. The behavioral resemblace with your parents, which you thought you had finally overcome, evident in all its glory. But you didn't move forward. You didn't move backwards either. You reached that special point in evolution only available to those that managed to stop. To really stop, as your physical you advances at the greatest speed you are likely to achieve in this life.

They always told you life goes too fast; that you should take time to smell the roses. No one told you it wasn't really about the roses, not even the single serving version that accompanied your airline breakfast to add color to those cold and tasteless microwaved scrambled eggs.

Today you asked me about my day. Once again, there was nothing that deserved to be mentioned. I just wasted another day of my life, mostly while sitting uncomfortably on a plane... Going nowhere...