Greetings from the skies over Helsinki, on-board a well-aged Thai Airways 747 that has two hours remaining in its eleven-hour flight. Last night was Singapore, then a quick hop to Bangkok, and then this uneventful long-haul as I’m nearing London’s Heathrow airport.
I’ve felt strange for much of the trip. It’s been a lot of fun, no doubt, and I’m really glad I went. A trip like this, with four major cities in a week, all separated by 8-13 hours of flying time to each city, reinforces the benefits and challenges of the peripatetic nature of my life. There’s always something coming and going. There’s always a project wrapping and another one (or five) to tackle next.
What’s the goal of life? Maybe it’s this: to live the life we’ve been given, to be kind to others, to do things that make us happy, and to give back (or whatever it’s called) as much as possible.
And so in that case, I suppose I’m doing okay. I do miss the big goal, the quest, the thing that kept me looking to the future year after year. One quest leads to another, though, and I certainly have a great life by any standard.
Los Angeles, Dubai, Singapore, and London in a week: perhaps it’s a bit much. But what’s the alternative—to dream about a dream trip but never actually pack your bags? If you’re going to be sleepless, might as well be in transit for much of it.