Things I do on an airplane to amuse myself
I have to travel on a regular basis, typically by air. This is where I get a lot of my reading and writing done. But I always try to book a window seat so I can engage in another pastime I've developed to while away the hours in the plane: I load up Microsoft Streets & Trips (without the GPS) on my laptap, set the zoom level to about 175 miles and track what I'm flying over. I'm able to locate and identify rivers, lakes, highways, towns, etc., and watch the steady progress of my flight; periodically scrolling the screen to keep myself in the center, as if the world is turning under me.
As I type this, I'm over Southern Idaho flying in a Northwesterly direction towards Seattle. Looking down I can see I-15 and the tiny towns of McCammon and Inkom; places I'll probably never see at ground level. Not too far ahead is the small city of Pocatello and then the American Falls Reservoir. I know from my map that the Craters of the Moon National Monument will be coming up beneath me in mere minutes, even though it's not in the range of my window view yet.
The middle seat is unoccupied. Sitting in the aisle seat is a well-dressed Korean businessman. He seems slightly perturbed by the way I keep staring out the window, then referring back to my computer; back and forth. We're over Ketchum and Sun Valley now and he is openly staring at me. Perhaps he thinks I'm a terrorist of some sort. Or maybe just an odd person.
There are a lot of reasons why I like this airplane mapping game. It keeps me in the moment. I know where I am, where I've been and what's coming up ahead. Maybe that gives me the illusion of a slightly expanded view of both time and place. There's also a feeling of accomplishment each time I'm able to recognize something from this perspective. It reminds me of the travel game my parents gave my sister and I, to keep us busy on long car trips, where we could score Bingo! by spotting a cow and a bus and a barn and a railroad-crossing sign.
I wonder about the people below me as I pass overhead. What's it like to live in Inkom, Idaho? Who made all those dirt roads and for what purpose? Where is that lonely car going on that arrow straight road through the center of that valley? What's that man-made geometric pattern doing in the middle of nowhere?
If only it were this easy to track life itself. To see the big picture and correspond it to the map. To know exactly where I am, where I've been and where I'm going. So often I forget the lessons from my past that I thought I'd learned. And where I think I am at present so often turns out to be completely off the mark.
And the future could go in any direction.
This reminds me of last week's Bible study at the jail. We read the story in John 1:35-39 where Jesus gets His first two disciples. They see Him walking by and begin to follow. Jesus turns around to them and says, "What do you want?" "Where are you staying?", they ask. "Come, and you will see.", replies Jesus mysteriously. And that's how it is following Jesus. He says, "Follow me.", and we want the details. Where to? For how long? To do what? We want to see the map. He just smiles that sly smile and says, "Come, and you will see."
P.S.
I turned my laptop towards the aisle and showed the Korean businessman what I was doing. I pointed out on the map where we presently were. He laughed and asked, "How far Tacoma?"
As I type this, I'm over Southern Idaho flying in a Northwesterly direction towards Seattle. Looking down I can see I-15 and the tiny towns of McCammon and Inkom; places I'll probably never see at ground level. Not too far ahead is the small city of Pocatello and then the American Falls Reservoir. I know from my map that the Craters of the Moon National Monument will be coming up beneath me in mere minutes, even though it's not in the range of my window view yet.
The middle seat is unoccupied. Sitting in the aisle seat is a well-dressed Korean businessman. He seems slightly perturbed by the way I keep staring out the window, then referring back to my computer; back and forth. We're over Ketchum and Sun Valley now and he is openly staring at me. Perhaps he thinks I'm a terrorist of some sort. Or maybe just an odd person.
There are a lot of reasons why I like this airplane mapping game. It keeps me in the moment. I know where I am, where I've been and what's coming up ahead. Maybe that gives me the illusion of a slightly expanded view of both time and place. There's also a feeling of accomplishment each time I'm able to recognize something from this perspective. It reminds me of the travel game my parents gave my sister and I, to keep us busy on long car trips, where we could score Bingo! by spotting a cow and a bus and a barn and a railroad-crossing sign.
I wonder about the people below me as I pass overhead. What's it like to live in Inkom, Idaho? Who made all those dirt roads and for what purpose? Where is that lonely car going on that arrow straight road through the center of that valley? What's that man-made geometric pattern doing in the middle of nowhere?
If only it were this easy to track life itself. To see the big picture and correspond it to the map. To know exactly where I am, where I've been and where I'm going. So often I forget the lessons from my past that I thought I'd learned. And where I think I am at present so often turns out to be completely off the mark.
And the future could go in any direction.
This reminds me of last week's Bible study at the jail. We read the story in John 1:35-39 where Jesus gets His first two disciples. They see Him walking by and begin to follow. Jesus turns around to them and says, "What do you want?" "Where are you staying?", they ask. "Come, and you will see.", replies Jesus mysteriously. And that's how it is following Jesus. He says, "Follow me.", and we want the details. Where to? For how long? To do what? We want to see the map. He just smiles that sly smile and says, "Come, and you will see."
P.S.
I turned my laptop towards the aisle and showed the Korean businessman what I was doing. I pointed out on the map where we presently were. He laughed and asked, "How far Tacoma?"
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