I don’t know how else to put this one.
[ EDIT: This one missed the schedule. Was supposed to go out back on the 24th. ]
The other night, I dreamt I was back on Kauai. We were in a large clearing in the foothills, overlooking the ocean. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining. There was a gentle, cooling breeze. And the air had that sweet, stickiness to it that reminds every pore you’re in paradise.
And Josh and I were desperately trying to get Fezzik back together in time for me to pick up V and get us to the airport for our flight home. Unfortunately, the flight was leaving in less than an hour and there was no way we would make it in time.
It was so absurd—and funny—I had to share.
We watched a couple average Joe types saunter out to the tarmac, a 9- and 12-year old in tow, and just walk up to a single seat plane like they belonged there.
I thought, “Oh shit. The gate wasn’t secure. They’re about to have a real bad time.”
You know, because they didn’t look like airplane owners.
Until they all climbed into the small plane parked next to it, fired it up like it was a common car, and rolled on out with one arm out the pilot’s window.
It wasn’t a new machine, either. Faded blues and polished aluminum, weathered and loved, not the fastest or prettiest thing, but generally regarded as a decently styled, easily serviced workhorse.
It was the 1977 Dodge Monaco of airplanes.
And then it was like, those are regular guys and they belong there. Which means I could belong there too if I prioritized taking action on that dream.
And it’s been a dream of mine to fly since you knew someone who drove a 1977 Dodge Monaco. Way, way back before Top Gun and Iron Eagle.
And that’s when P says, “Look Daddy! Those boys are riding in that airplane!” And then, disappointed, “I wish YOU could drive an airplane.”
Here a nice little thought.
What if someday, someone stumbles upon this collection of thoughts long after we’re all gone? What’s that person going to think?
What if it’s this little slice of Americana, the hopes and (hopefully realized) dreams of the Everyman.
We’re the middle children of history.
It’s a nice little thought.