I decided, gliding over the Sierra Nevadas in an aluminum tube, that I like flying for the same reason I like snow storms.
I once complained loudly to a good friend of mine that I hated missing classes for the newly instigated "CCU Symposium" earlier this year. Yet a month later when 24 inches of fresh, scintillating powder ventured from heaven to CCU, I rejoiced via text message to that same friend at the news that there would be no classes the next day.
Luckily, she called me one it. She asked me why I despised missing classes for the Symposium yet enjoyed missing them for a snow day. It caught me by surprise, really. I hadn't thought of it that way. I'm glad I have friends who do that.
Thinking about it, I realized why I was okay with missing classes due to snow. When we get adverse weather and classes are cancelled and businesses shut down, our human plans are hopelessly foiled. Observed correctly, a snow day is an inescapable reminder of how small and powerless we humans are. I think when we start shooting big guns or driving fast cars, we humans are tricked into thinking we're these all-powerful, unstoppable beings. Then some clouds roll in and we find that it's too cold to shoot stuff and our fast car only has 2-wheel drive.
It's fun to have to change your plans because of weather. Comforting, really. It's a relief to realize that you are not all-responsible for the running of things. When in the Bible Job's life is demolished - when his family dies, his wife leaves, his fortune is destroyed and his health is compromised - Job cries out to God and asks the Almighty, "God, what the heck?!" God answers his likewise; "Brace yourself like a man. I will question you and you shall answer Me." God then proceeds to ask question after question for three whole chapters. Job, Who is it Whom stores the winter snows in the mountains? Who is it, exactly, who calls the stars by name? Job, remind Me Who knows the comings and going of every mountain goat and locust. And Who is it Whom measured the foundations of the earth?*
Because it's not Job. It's not me. It's not you, either. But sometimes we forget that, y'know? We get a little too full of ourselves, a little too confident that we'll ace the test in Nonverbal Communication the next day. Then we wake up and realize that the test is cancelled because God called snow from the sky onto your doorstep.
The same realization hits me when I fly. The plane jams you back into your seat, the wind roars past the windows, over the wings, creating lift enough to hoist a 20,000-pound hulk of machinery and people into the sky. The ground runs away, leaving you with the intangible clouds for comfort. Then you look down onto Reno, onto Denver, onto wherever. And you see all of those huge obstacles - all of those highway patrol cars in speed traps, all of those tall buildings which tempt you to reach their uppermost floor, all of those fences too high to climb - and they suddenly are put into perspective. Tiny objects on a tinier world. Insignificant compositions of circuitry and hormones and brick held by an invisible force to an insignificant sphere of magma and water in an insignificant solar system.
Looking down onto the familiar streets of Reno, one realizes how out of control we really are in this life. We may be able to compute the third derivative of sin(x-9) or build bombs that destroy cities or decide which pants to wear today. But then we walk to our door and realize that we're trapped inside our apartments by trillions upon trillions of uniquely crafted flakes of crystalized water.
Thanks for reading,
-Daniel K
*This is the Daniel Paraphrased Version of the Bible (DPV). Look up Job Chapters 37-42 for the actual text.
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