There is something about the light that I love. I could spend every sunrise and sunset with a camera and never resent the hours I could have slept or otherwise spent. I always want to drop everything and follow the unseen path that those golden hours create, making all the old things new and the new things newer still. It is this love of light that always draws me to the stars, to the clouds, and to the sky. Relentlessly.

I've been reading a lot about the Space Race time in history. Now all I can think about is how much I love the sky, the science that lets us touch it, and the light it contains.

The truth is, I am never going to want something else the way I wanted to fly. The way I still want to fly. After trying for years to redirect this longing, I simply cannot imagine succeeding. I've taken a good hard look at my life. I know that flying just doesn't fit right now, doesn't fit in the foreseeable future, and almost never pencils out when you don't even know how you'll use it. It is in the way of every other goal I have. Every other goal I have is in the way of flying. Me against myself. Myself against me. Stale mate.

But I still want it. I debate with myself constantly. Am I down and out of the game? Or am I just on a low that I will pull myself up from? Back and forth I go. My friends and family have their opinions and perspectives; but, unless someone is paying for flight school, it doesn't really matter what anyone thinks. It doesn't even matter what I think. I think but I don't really know anything.

I'm on a work trip for my new career that doesn't include air planes the way I once expected. It's hard to fly commercially in a painful deep-down-that-I-can't-explain way. It makes my bones ache. On the flight out here, I wrestled and I found some of the right words. You see, there is no plan. Since I got fired from what I thought was my dream job turned night mare, I have tried to adapt and, in adapting, I have tried to manufacture a plan. And then another and another. But there isn't one. These last three years, there has been no plan. I am only just now believing and accepting that.

This week's goals include: do a good job, make time for the important things that present themselves, and don't be a jerk. Above all, invest in and appreciate the good things that are currently in my life. They just might be a vital part of the plan that I haven't discovered yet. I try to shake this hope for flying but what I am discovering is that, some days, hoping is not hard or heavy. Other days, it is just asking too much. So I do it when I can and leave it in some proverbial box under the bed when I can't. I marvel at my own inconsistency. I am learning not to apologize for it because it is better to be strong and able some days than no days.

I don't understand why I want to fly. I don't understand with all the might of my analyzing abilities why it hurts so bad to be so far away from flight. I am a practical person, by and large. This is not a practical longing. But it is mine and I belong to it. So I will hope and not hope in turn; but above all, through all, and with all, I wait. And I keep busy while I wait. But if you look closely at my face whenever I am flying on a sales trip at sunset, I am always fighting back tears.

Oh Lord, my God, for what was I made if not for this, the sky?

Open and Shut

When one door shuts, another opens. Right? Kind of.

Last Thursday I was acutely aware of the feeling of wanting to "go through a new door" but needing to shut one first. I guess it's good housekeeping. But mostly, it felt final, nauseating, and a little scary.

Let me move beyond metaphor.

Since March I have been in contact with a company trying to figure out if they have a place for me. This is a career change. And it is not a fluid one. We are talking about the difference between wrenching on airplanes and selling fair trade food products. I originally applied for a warehouse position. We interviewed. I networked like mad, wore my orange pants, and in general tried to be as kind and as memorable as possible. That process was from March to May. They gave me the kindest "no" I have ever received and promised to call if there was another position. Everyone promises that when they don't want to feel the discomfort of denying you. The thing is, my interview questions were *hard*, personal, and to the point. These people do not do things the comfortable way. Some part of me actually expected them to contact me. That optimism held out for a week or so and then back to the problems at hand.

July comes and they call me to request that I put an application in for a sales position. My response? "What makes you think I'm qualified for sales?" I receive a rather thoughtful answer and submit my application that night. Two weeks and three interviews later, I have a job offer. A door opens. But I cannot walk through it with my airplanes in tow. And that terrifies me.

Do I want too many things out of life? Do I even know what I want? What on earth makes me think that I can do this? I have a vacuum of experience to offer where I usually have a cornucopia of skills and experiences from my long history of dabbling. Now, I have a two year contract in a job that I would have laughed at if it were any other company asking me to do it.

And so, last Thursday I gave my notice. It was one of the hardest things I have ever done in pursuing a future and dreams and purpose. I was so very aware of the sound of my doorway to flying closing. No one ever told me that I would ever have to be the catalyst to my own doors closing. All of my skills are in finding the new options, in reacting to closed doors, and in identifying that they are indeed closed. But this one? I shut it. I can't blame my family, my boss, my husband, or even God. It is hard to close a door that I worked so hard to fabricate.

I love flying. It has long been the dream. But I am so disenchanted with the industry surrounding flying, I cannot see straight. I am angry because I feel like it didn't have to go this way, but I am hopeful that leaving will make space for me to come back in a healthier way. But maybe it won't come back at all. I did shut that door. Of course, the nature of doors is to open and shut, to provide passage, to keep some of us out.

I cannot worry about which of those will happen to me. I am not fully in control of that. I will always love flying though. Once the love of flying bits you, it stays in your blood.

From home to home.

There seems to be a large number of half finished posts in my blog drafts. That seems about right. None of my thoughts seem to end before I am aware of a dozen more standing at the door waiting for my attention. Anyway, I have just returned from Montana, which is one of my favorite places to write about. John Steinbeck wrote “I’m in love with Montana. For other states I have admiration, respect, recognition, even some affection. But with Montana it is love. And it’s difficult to analyze love when you’re in it." I used to think that quote was silly. But the more I untangle myself from my growing up, the more I love Montana.



There is no better place than summer in Montana. Of this much I am convinced though I admit to a heavy bias. There are so many stars and rivers. The clouds are always changing, growing, and traveling across this theater sky. The mountains rumble with the gentle roar produced by snow melting and racing down to the valley. And it is in the valley that I grew up and learned all of the things which have made me who I am.

Have I mentioned that I love Montana's sky? Because I do. I do not know if I would want to fly so badly if I had grown up somewhere else. In Portland, flying is a nice idea, but the sky is gray and unplayful. But in Montana, it is always changing. When I go there, I spend half of my time just watching it and it teases me. It tells me that I am still tied down by gravity and have so much left to learn and explore.

And then there is the rumbling of the waters. They used to put me to sleep at night. Everything has its rhythm and I am convinced that the blood that flows through my veins keeps pace with the rivers of Montana. I rafted them with my parents soon after I could walk and I have never been the same. My heartbeat answers to glacier water and my breath to the sound of wind in tall pines, cedars, and my most beloved cottonwoods. The wind too told me I should not trust the ground.

These pictures are of Avalanche Gorge and Avalanche Lake. There are pictures from both sides of the lake including some of the glacier snow for a reference point. ...And one more for good measure.

Yep. This is Montana and I am in love with it even though I no longer belong to it. Even if I never return, it will remain home. My first home. And that is so much more than a first love. Though, if you asked me the difference between those two, I am not sure I could tell you. Perhaps, home is the place where you learn to love and be loved. That is why it is so difficult to leave if the love is good and kind. 

Real Fear

I am afraid.

I am afraid in new ways I have not yet known. This is real fear. I know a lot of people who are afraid of a lot of things. I often times do not understand. But here I am, very much afraid, and only just now finding the words to say what it is that I am feeling and have been feeling.

I am afraid that it did not happen.

I am afraid that I woke up.

I am afraid that I am starting over.

I am afraid.

And if it never did happen, maybe it never will.
If it was a dream, maybe it will never be real.
If I have to start over, maybe I will not start at all.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

Being done with mechanics should be a relief; but I am back at Bible College for my senior year. The longer I am there and the more I adjust, acclimate, and succeed... the farther away the last two years feel. Maybe they did not happen. Maybe I do not know anything about airplanes at all. If I do, maybe I will forget. Maybe it was just a joke or a vacation.

I was kind of hoping it would be the rest of my life.




It will take all of my strength to hold onto both of my realities until I graduate and forge a new one.

God provides things you don't think you need sometimes.

He gave me free muffin tins, old bananas, and a sunny Saturday morning. I've been in culture shock for two weeks and sick for the week after that. Today, though, today, I feel that he has not left me alone to figure out the rest of my life.

I do not know why I know it so strongly now. Only that I made banana bread muffins with what he gave me. Muffins are different than my usual banana bread because they are what my mom always made. The mornings I woke to banana bread muffins were always special.

Somehow, that makes this morning special. Somehow, it invites parts of me that have long been standing vigil to sit down and rest. Somehow, today is the day that the wind comes and hits my sails at just the right angle to reassure me that I am not stuck here. I am indeed moving in a direction and that is enough today. Last weekend a good friend took the time to remind me of exactly where I want to be and why I am doing what I am doing. I went flying. There is not anything I love more than flying. But I needed this week to challenge the rest of me.

Most of all, I needed this morning to tell me that I am full sail ahead for something. Something involving flying. And that is enough today. Hopefully that will be enough for quite awhile.

fractures

I have an art piece that I want to do... but I lack the time and resources. Well, I have a lot of art pieces that I want to do and I could list all of those, but that would make me too sad. However, this one is particularly relevant today.

I want a pane of glass that I can intentionally stick a photograph to, let set with goop, and then tear off leaving a partial of the photo (a portrait of some emotive design likely emphasizing the face). Then I want to smash the pane so that the glass spiders. ...and then I have to find a way to keep it together after that.

It sounds pretty simple when I read it. I guess it is. Maybe I just want to smash things. Glass is pretty satisfying.

This piece comes out of living in too many unrelated spheres. It comes from quarantining certain parts of life from others, intentionally or unintentionally. And trying to live in that tension. For some people, it is that distinct loneliness they feel either because their church does not get them and/or their life outside of church does not. Usually both. Or two groups of friends. Or two homes. Whatever it is...it causes this chasm to open wide and you find yourself called to either side, but mostly residing somewhere deep inside it for fear of leaving something of yourself behind upon choosing a side.

And for me, I am caught between the abstractions and philosophizing of my starving muse...and the aircraft hangar. And I love them both for their own reasons. More than that, I do not know who I would be without either. In writing that, I want to rebel and resist definition, but it is useless. The former, is my lifeblood. It is how I think and how I see the world and when I ignore it, I become frighteningly mechanical and somehow less human. The latter is this perhaps overly romanticized dream that I have built for more than seven years. By the time I get to actually being able to learn to fly, it will be well nigh a decade.

Take into account that those were extra formative years in my life and aviation is inextricably part of my identity. Where else would I go? What else would I do? It is theoretically possible, but it would be a divorce with far reaching implications. Divorcing one's metaphorical DNA is a procedure that has never done anything but boost the pharmaceutical industry.

But I need to know if I can build dreams from schematics. If I can keep one foot in both worlds without falling and failing. Can I set my poetry and paintings between my FARs and Aeronautical Dictionary?

Beyond than that, what if I have romanticized flight? Is it possible that I could chase this all the way past every imaginable and tangible obstacle only to be disappointed because I was infatuated with an idea rather than the reality itself? I do not give myself over to love such fragile things easily. I am too timid for that. But I am afraid that this is a lost cause. Even if it is a false love, it is one I carry most fiercely and will never be rid of except perhaps by the very disappointment I fear. Quite simply I am in too deep.

But I knew all of that. This is not new. I wish it was. Then it would not carry the shame of familiarity. But I return here again and again and again. I know how it will end each time. I will climb out. I go do my homework and pass my tests with varying quality and questionable worthiness. And there is grace in time because she keeps moving even when we are not watching. Despite our bickering as to how quickly or slowly she should be going, she keeps the same pace.

So I know how today will end, but I still chafe against these worries. And I know I will be here again. I am creature of habit like everyone else. But I do long for the day when all of me is in agreement. When the tension is gone because who I want to be, is. And I may well be waiting into eternity for that, but time brings that nearer.

ALL of that to say just this: It helps to realize that the schism is less my own mistake today with a solution that I am overlooking and more a matter of groaning as we wait for eternity. It is good to remember. These fractures have their beginnings in the tension between now and eternity. There is an end. But it is not my responsibility. Two kinds of rest.

The irony is that for the past week I have not been able to get past the first few verses of Hebrews. Conspiracies.