Learning to fly When I was much younger (and smaller) my Dad had a big car with a huge back seat. If I remember right, it was a Ford station wagon. It was HUGE and had thick dark green leather seats. Back then, nobody wore seat belts. Child seats were just a novelty or too expensive. That big old boat of a car I swear literally floated down the street. I remember long road trips where I would scoot towards the middle of the seat so I could peer out over my fathers shoulder and look down the road. I was looking for the mirages. The water on the dry road that always disappeared just before we got to it. Most of all I was looking for the "spot" in the road. Living in the suburbs of a large city we never really spent much time in the car. Everything was only minutes away and for the most part, the streets were boringly flat. Every once in a while, whether my Dad truly enjoyed it or just wanted to give us kids a thrill, he would drive the big old Ford as fast as he could over the railroad tracks. Maybe he just wanted to annoy Mom. When that Ford hit the tracks it was launched into the air. Looking out the window as the car rose into the sky, the buildings would slowly sink into the ground. At times I could swear that I was looking down on the rooftops from the comfort and safety of the thick green leather seats. In reality, I know that the car never left the ground and that it was me that was airborne. When that car came down and I was pushed back into the seat it always took a few moments to sit back in the seat correctly. With the giggling, laughing, and shouting, "do it again!," I never got to see if my parents enjoyed it as much as my sister and I. Or maybe it was only me that found it a thrill. On those long road trips in that big old car, I was always hoping that the road we were on would get more hilly. It was always a thrill to me when the car would start its climb upwards. I was gently pushed back in the seat and from my vantage point the road would slowly disappear. The blue sky would take its place as the hood ornament slowly led us upward. Because of the soft suspension on the car, the crest of the hill was in itself uneventful. But I knew what was coming. I knew that when the sky gave way to the road, the car was going to leave me behind. I knew that I was going to be launched up into the air. It wasn't really a launch. It was always more like a pull. Something deep inside of my body would start to tingle. It was as if hundreds of strings were attached to my stomach and all at once they would gently pull me up to the sky. Sometimes I hated the roof of the station wagon. I believed that if it was not there the tingle would pull me up into the sun. The closer I came to the sun, the farther away from the ground I became, the bigger the smile on my face grew. The more those strings tugged the more I wanted to follow. As delightful as it was, I was never disappointed when it was over. When those strings started to release their grip, the big green seat would regain its hold on me. Its softness felt like a giant catcher's mitt cradling the gentle landing of a pop fly. As I came down I would curl up and spin in the air. Then just as the last string let go, the soft green leather would press itself against my face. The laughing, the giggling, the cries of happiness wouldn't last long. It was always quickly replaced by the search for the next hill in the road. The next "spot." With a huge smile on my face and the tingling in the pit of my stomach, I would anxiously await the next hill. It was an addicting feeling. One I can never get enough of. I don't know what happened. I cant remember when it happened. Did my Dad sell the car? Did the new cars just have different suspension? Was it the fact that I was no longer small enough for the adventure? Could it be that the novelty wore off and that I just forgot how much I loved it? No. I never forgot how much I loved it. I never forgot those feelings. I just forgot to look for them. I forgot how to appreciate them. They were always with me. Many things now give me those same feelings. Unfortunately, I have grown up, I have learned to drive myself now. I won't get into a car without wearing my seat belt. I have let the hills in the road become obstacles. I no longer look forward to them. I despise them because I cannot see what is behind them, what they are hiding. I want to hide behind them and sneak around so that I can safely get to the other side. I guess I never really lost those feelings. I always knew that at the top of the hill I would find that wonderful pull of the strings. What I did was bank all those old magnificent feelings so that one day I could withdraw them when I needed them. I let those old feelings become my big green leather car seat. I was no longer riding with them, I was sitting on them. I spent years sitting on that seat looking at the road ahead of me. But that's all I did. Just look. Everything I had around me I truly loved but I knew what I really was looking for was at the top of my hill. The seat I was sitting on had become thin and worn. I could feel the rough pavement through the thinning hide. I was afraid of climbing my hill. I was afraid of giving up what I had just to see if the grass truly is greener. What if it's not? I cant go back. If I get up off my wonderful old seat the road will surely take it back. What then? The "what then" kept me comfortably sitting on the old green leather while all the time I could see the sun shining on the top of my hill. Even here at the bottom of my hill, in its shadow, I could feel a string or two every once in a while pulling me up. Pulling me towards the sun. Putting a smile on my face. But that catcher's mitt of a car seat still surrounded me. Sitting at the bottom of my hill I could see many other people. Most had a seat that they were not only buckled into but tied to and desperately clinging to. Many had their eyes closed to the sun shining happily down on them. But some were looking up and smiling. I could see that their strings were pulling strongly and that they were not resisting. They were letting the familiarity of their seat fall behind them. With a look of empowering content they started slowly up their hill. The higher they climbed, the faster they went. When they reached the top they were magically pulled up into the air. The sight was magnificently inspiring. I knew then what I had to do. I got up off my old leather seat, looked around a bit, and then went straight for my hill. I started slowly but before I knew it I was running as fast as my legs could carry me. When I got near the top I could feel those wonderful strings start to pull again. I could feel the big smile come back to my face. It wasn't like it was long ago. It was better. I didn't have the roof of the car holding me back. I didn't have the soft green leather reaching up to bring me back down. My feet were going faster than I ever thought they could. I was up on my toes and moving almost effortlessly. The sun warmed my face and the strings pulled stronger than I remembered. They were not only attached to my stomach, they were attached to every inch of my body. Before I knew it I was completely off the ground and floating up over the crest of the hill. I could hear giggling and laughing all around me. It was going through me. It was coming from me. I came down on top of my hill laughing so hard tears fell from my face. I caught my breath and looked around. Here I was standing in the place I had dreamt about for so long. I was terrified at the thought of making this trip without my green seat and now here I am on my own two feet. Safe. I looked into the distance and saw another hill. This time I saw it all. I wasn't looking over my father's shoulder. I knew that at the top of that hill I would feel the same miraculous feelings that I always felt. This time without hesitation I started my trip. I now know that there are not greener pastures on the other side of my hill. What is there is more hills. Hundreds, thousands, of hills. On each and every one of them is the unbelievable joy I have missed for so long. You might be tempted to stay in the valleys but they are there so you can stop and look back at what you have just done. To be proud of it and to remember that that is what brought you to the start of another hill. It's a starting place. Not a stopping point. If you stop looking for mirages and don't bank your happiness, those strings will keep pulling you. Soon you will be floating from hill top to hill top, the sun shining warmly on your smile. Richard Germain uses his life experiences to educate and entertain all who are willing to listen. He welcomes any questions or comments on his work. |
The DesertLight Journal |
Learning to fly When I was much younger (and smaller) my Dad had a big car with a huge back seat. If I remember right, it was a Ford station wagon. It was HUGE and had thick dark green leather seats. Back then, nobody wore seat belts. Child seats were just a novelty or too expensive. That big old boat of a car I swear literally floated down the street. I remember long road trips where I would scoot towards the middle of the seat so I could peer out over my fathers shoulder and look down the road. I was looking for the mirages. The water on the dry road that always disappeared just before we got to it. Most of all I was looking for the "spot" in the road. Living in the suburbs of a large city we never really spent much time in the car. Everything was only minutes away and for the most part, the streets were boringly flat. Every once in a while, whether my Dad truly enjoyed it or just wanted to give us kids a thrill, he would drive the big old Ford as fast as he could over the railroad tracks. Maybe he just wanted to annoy Mom. When that Ford hit the tracks it was launched into the air. Looking out the window as the car rose into the sky, the buildings would slowly sink into the ground. At times I could swear that I was looking down on the rooftops from the comfort and safety of the thick green leather seats. In reality, I know that the car never left the ground and that it was me that was airborne. When that car came down and I was pushed back into the seat it always took a few moments to sit back in the seat correctly. With the giggling, laughing, and shouting, "do it again!," I never got to see if my parents enjoyed it as much as my sister and I. Or maybe it was only me that found it a thrill. On those long road trips in that big old car, I was always hoping that the road we were on would get more hilly. It was always a thrill to me when the car would start its climb upwards. I was gently pushed back in the seat and from my vantage point the road would slowly disappear. The blue sky would take its place as the hood ornament slowly led us upward. Because of the soft suspension on the car, the crest of the hill was in itself uneventful. But I knew what was coming. I knew that when the sky gave way to the road, the car was going to leave me behind. I knew that I was going to be launched up into the air. It wasn't really a launch. It was always more like a pull. Something deep inside of my body would start to tingle. It was as if hundreds of strings were attached to my stomach and all at once they would gently pull me up to the sky. Sometimes I hated the roof of the station wagon. I believed that if it was not there the tingle would pull me up into the sun. The closer I came to the sun, the farther away from the ground I became, the bigger the smile on my face grew. The more those strings tugged the more I wanted to follow. As delightful as it was, I was never disappointed when it was over. When those strings started to release their grip, the big green seat would regain its hold on me. Its softness felt like a giant catcher's mitt cradling the gentle landing of a pop fly. As I came down I would curl up and spin in the air. Then just as the last string let go, the soft green leather would press itself against my face. The laughing, the giggling, the cries of happiness wouldn't last long. It was always quickly replaced by the search for the next hill in the road. The next "spot." With a huge smile on my face and the tingling in the pit of my stomach, I would anxiously await the next hill. It was an addicting feeling. One I can never get enough of. I don't know what happened. I cant remember when it happened. Did my Dad sell the car? Did the new cars just have different suspension? Was it the fact that I was no longer small enough for the adventure? Could it be that the novelty wore off and that I just forgot how much I loved it? No. I never forgot how much I loved it. I never forgot those feelings. I just forgot to look for them. I forgot how to appreciate them. They were always with me. Many things now give me those same feelings. Unfortunately, I have grown up, I have learned to drive myself now. I won't get into a car without wearing my seat belt. I have let the hills in the road become obstacles. I no longer look forward to them. I despise them because I cannot see what is behind them, what they are hiding. I want to hide behind them and sneak around so that I can safely get to the other side. I guess I never really lost those feelings. I always knew that at the top of the hill I would find that wonderful pull of the strings. What I did was bank all those old magnificent feelings so that one day I could withdraw them when I needed them. I let those old feelings become my big green leather car seat. I was no longer riding with them, I was sitting on them. I spent years sitting on that seat looking at the road ahead of me. But that's all I did. Just look. Everything I had around me I truly loved but I knew what I really was looking for was at the top of my hill. The seat I was sitting on had become thin and worn. I could feel the rough pavement through the thinning hide. I was afraid of climbing my hill. I was afraid of giving up what I had just to see if the grass truly is greener. What if it's not? I cant go back. If I get up off my wonderful old seat the road will surely take it back. What then? The "what then" kept me comfortably sitting on the old green leather while all the time I could see the sun shining on the top of my hill. Even here at the bottom of my hill, in its shadow, I could feel a string or two every once in a while pulling me up. Pulling me towards the sun. Putting a smile on my face. But that catcher's mitt of a car seat still surrounded me. Sitting at the bottom of my hill I could see many other people. Most had a seat that they were not only buckled into but tied to and desperately clinging to. Many had their eyes closed to the sun shining happily down on them. But some were looking up and smiling. I could see that their strings were pulling strongly and that they were not resisting. They were letting the familiarity of their seat fall behind them. With a look of empowering content they started slowly up their hill. The higher they climbed, the faster they went. When they reached the top they were magically pulled up into the air. The sight was magnificently inspiring. I knew then what I had to do. I got up off my old leather seat, looked around a bit, and then went straight for my hill. I started slowly but before I knew it I was running as fast as my legs could carry me. When I got near the top I could feel those wonderful strings start to pull again. I could feel the big smile come back to my face. It wasn't like it was long ago. It was better. I didn't have the roof of the car holding me back. I didn't have the soft green leather reaching up to bring me back down. My feet were going faster than I ever thought they could. I was up on my toes and moving almost effortlessly. The sun warmed my face and the strings pulled stronger than I remembered. They were not only attached to my stomach, they were attached to every inch of my body. Before I knew it I was completely off the ground and floating up over the crest of the hill. I could hear giggling and laughing all around me. It was going through me. It was coming from me. I came down on top of my hill laughing so hard tears fell from my face. I caught my breath and looked around. Here I was standing in the place I had dreamt about for so long. I was terrified at the thought of making this trip without my green seat and now here I am on my own two feet. Safe. I looked into the distance and saw another hill. This time I saw it all. I wasn't looking over my father's shoulder. I knew that at the top of that hill I would feel the same miraculous feelings that I always felt. This time without hesitation I started my trip. I now know that there are not greener pastures on the other side of my hill. What is there is more hills. Hundreds, thousands, of hills. On each and every one of them is the unbelievable joy I have missed for so long. You might be tempted to stay in the valleys but they are there so you can stop and look back at what you have just done. To be proud of it and to remember that that is what brought you to the start of another hill. It's a starting place. Not a stopping point. If you stop looking for mirages and don't bank your happiness, those strings will keep pulling you. Soon you will be floating from hill top to hill top, the sun shining warmly on your smile. Richard Germain uses his life experiences to educate and entertain all who are willing to listen. He welcomes any questions or comments on his work. |
Richard Germain |
