Scaled Perspective

Unlike many I know, I still get excited to fly. I love airports with their dated attempts at modernity. I love planes, of all kinds, it doesn't really matter to me if their from Cessna or the Skunkworks. But what I really love, and what I anxiously await each time I'm in a Town Car driving up the BQE, is the perspective I gain for the minutes I'm in the sky.

There's something about the shift in scale itself that allows for both personal and systemic insight. While I'm aloft, an awareness of how rare and productive those minutes can be is never absent. I've had some of my best ideas staring out of an acrylic porthole at the shimmer of human progress, and I take full advantage of that altitude every chance I get.

Consequently, I'm a total asshole about which seat I get. Fighting for a window seat is a given (it should be noted at this point as well, that Heather, for many years, has generously conceded to sitting on the aisle).

What I get picky about is the side of the plane I'm on and my proximity to the wing (there's nothing worse than walking onto the plane behind a couple of haggard old ladies and a young couple, litter in tow, only to discover that my seat is above the wing and my view will begin and end staring at worn rivets).

Before booking my tickets, I mentally map the flight path, assessing which side might have the superior view. For instance, if I'm flying down the East Coast, I'll opt for the right-hand side, providing views of organically forking rivers and crowded malls rather than less stimulating, though still calmly beautiful, sea. If I'm headed home, I go with whichever seat lets me watch the post-Verrazano harbor fade into Lower Manhattan.

For those that enjoy looking down as much as I do, download Idle Time's wonderful screensaver, Holding Pattern.