When I step onto the plane, and it lifts off the runway, I will know that there is no way back. I’ve commenced myself as a skytraveller. In a bold defiance of gravity, it will feel like I’m hanging in a thread and that I could be falling through the sky at any moment. But I’m going to put myself right at the centre of the storm, where the intensity of experience is unlike anything else. I’m gonna go out there and take it. I’ll jump on the plane a million times, with sweat dripping furiously off my skin and crippling fears of death shivering in my bones, just to feel it all. No amount of anxiety will stop me from taking that journey. It’s mine for the taking. I’m jumping on that plane, and embracing the violent turbulence. Put me through hell. I’m meant for the hellride. During the most thunderous passages of the journey, the seat belt needs to be desperately clinging on to its very last fiber. The plane should bending, right to the point of its breaking. Cabin lights have to flicker, and faint-hearted travellers should be screaming for their mothers. But there is no dear mother in sight. Only the good night, putting us all to sleep if we go gentle into it. I’ll either live in the sky or die in the fall.
