Tiny Blobs At Thirty Thousand Feet

Look out the window of a plane and the world turns into a kid’s spilled box of Legos. Tiny houses. Tiny cars. Tiny lives. All of it flattened into a quilt that does not know your name.

From up there, the argument you had Tuesday is smaller than a driveway. The email you keep rereading is the size of a postage stamp. Your carefully curated grudges do not even show up on the map.

It is strangely freeing to see how little any single moment matters to the planet. Not in a cruel way. In a permission slip way.

If we are all just microscopic blobs on a spinning rock, then why not:

Say the honest thing.
Ship the messy idea.
Apply for the job you are not quite qualified for.
Tell the person you love them before the seatbelt light turns off.

You can carry frustration like a backpack of bricks onto every flight of your life. Or you can quietly slide it under the seat in front of you and leave it there.

From thirty thousand feet, the choice is embarrassingly clear.

Stay Positive & Maybe Time To Book A Flight?