It truly "struck" me just as soon as the wheels of the plane no longer made physical connectivity with the ground on the runway at LAX. An intense and sudden pang of emotion slammed me in the moment and rendered me immobile and without the capacity to utter words. It was as if a loss of concrete footing meant an immediate shift in perception to one of longing for what I no longer have - a life in southern California. I assume this is somewhat parallel to the feeling of "ripping off the band aid" after the conclusion of a long-term relationship. In this sense, the concept is abstracted to a relationship between me and the land I've called home for my entire life. I thought to myself, because all I could do was think in brief dialogue: "I'm REALLY doing this. The next time I'll be on the ground again I will be over 2,300 miles away from here and within hours of the Arctic circle. In Alaska. Far from everyone and everything I've ever held dearly. Depending only on myself." That's the gist of it all, anyway. Grateful for having the window seat, as that afforded one last, though hardly prolonged, glance at the unreal metropolis that is the LA Basin: the downtown skyline that I've grown ever so fond of during my on the ground explorations and while driving by at night to the tune of a mesmerizing serenade of lights. The plane veered up the coastline towards the Santa Monica mountains and I had a chance to recall all such pertinent ventures. One last look towards Los Angeles.... and suddenly the Mojave came into view, dressed in its finest twilight grandeur. I paid my loving respects from a distance, as I suppose I'll have to get used to doing anyway. Ah the multitudes of storied adventures undertaken in the most prized and cherished of wild lands, near to my heart always. No matter the realized or perceptive distance. In some way I look forward to the rigors of learning the concept of love from afar. In short while, sleep overcame all else, laying claim to my head space over the racing thoughts and tremors of the heart. I woke up later to a rustling sound, which I quickly figured out was my neighbor attempting to stealthily slip a small bag of pretzels into my hand with a quiet patience that made the situation absurdly comical (she was a hoot). I smiled and thanked her (the pretzels were quite good after all), and resumed my observance of the deepening night. I was, however, forced to quickly forego this, as a thick layer of clouds declined permission to view what lay beneath. A quick reference to maps confirmed our trajectory over the Pacific Ocean; not much to see here regardless of all other circumstances. The flight seemed to drag on endlessly and without recourse of the matter. This gave me ample opportunity to overthink every detail of the decisions made and the journey being undertaken. As I am liable to do regarding just about anything and everything. I've however grown to love this detail of myself while gradually figuring out how to manage it appropriately. This time, I let it flow freely. I allowed myself simply to feel the full force of this mental flood, reveling in it to the extent that I possibly could. It wasn't all positive. Missing people is in fact hard. Creating a new life is too, even if it's a life desired and prayed for. Everything requires adjustment and therefore the associated pains of growth. There is no going back now. Only forward, into the unknown. Time to bet on myself and trust in my abilities like never before. I rest my head on the window once more, lulled by the hum of the engines cruising at high altitude. The droning of a flight attendant followed by a beeping of the intercom alerted me once more, this time with news of our impending arrival in Anchorage after five hours or so. With vigor, I opened the window cover and gazed upon a scene bathed in incredulity: low, hanging clouds giving way to a grid of city lights set in a way that seemed a strange combination of mystery and strategy, yet was nonetheless compelling, even dictating, of one's attention towards this grandest of displays and nothing else possibly conceived. I felt immediately assured of one of my life's most impactful decisions. In an instant, Alaska transitioned in my mind from dreamy abstraction to tangible reality. I was here at long last. In rapid succession the plane - and I - descended into a fresh paradigm. A new life. Replete with all the freedom and challenges that are inevitable and that make journeys that most people would only ever dream of worth leaping into with a measure of hopeful abandon. Anchorage at first sight is akin to spotting a lover across a crowded room, and her extending a hand upon an invitation to dance in the most intimate of fashions.
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