Whenever I tend to feel down about my situation or the way I’ve acted (more like reacted to things), I like to imagine being airborne. Not in the “I have wings!” type of way, but in takeoffs and landings. You know, after you’ve been taxi-ing forever on the runway and as you lift up into the air…everything looks and feels so small. Watching paper towns and lego houses disappear into cumulus towers. All of it– the rejection, the pain, the disappointment. Broken promises and gossip mongered. A speck of dust on your window. So insignificant yet vaguely familiar. When you finally come back to earth, quite literally, you feel like it’s alright to step away for awhile. You left the earth and the world did not end. You went away and came back. No one, usually, is worst for wear.
Maybe all we ever need is a little space to call our own in the universe. Perhaps best not to find home in others. Perhaps to call home somewhere else.