It is one thing to get lost in a new city that you have never driven in before. It is quite another thing (scary too) when one comes home after being gone only a few months and gets lost on the way home from the airport.
On Tuesday I flew home to spend a couple weeks resting and visiting with my family. My love for Minnesota, which had been somewhat dormant of late, kindled afresh as I looked down from the plane on the snow covered fields of my beloved home state.
I love flying, even though it inevitably leaves me feeling dehydrated and dirty. No matter how often I fly, I still get a twinge of exhilaration and nervousness right before we take off.
I also like flying because it makes me feel grown-up and mature, like someone who knows where their going in life, someone with purpose. For a few hours I know my starting point, my destination, and how I'm going to get there. I'm learning to enjoy the uncertainties of real life, but I still crave the security of knowing where I'm going and when I'm going to arrive.
As I drove home (it didn't take me that long to find my way), I rolled down the windows and breathed the invigorating Minnesotan air, and soaked up the sunny, 40 degree weather.
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