What's in a name?

It occurs to me that the name of this blog comes off as an emo-dripping one liner that makes folks hate skinny jeans and soy lattes. While I definitely have those moments, this should not be confused as one. Like most of my better stories, this comes from my Grandpa (Gramp).

My propensity for travel started young. One of my earliest childhood memories is on a flight from Oakland to Portland to visit my Grandparents. Probably stuck in my head because as an unaccompanied minor, I got a lot of attention from the crew. In high school, travel became a reward of sorts for suffering through the injustices of being a teenager. Or at least that was how I saw it. I was international and loving it.

Gramp booked my flights and I began noticing a pattern. I always had a window seat and it was always behind the wing of the plane. When I asked him about it, he told me that it was the safest place to be if anything happened above 10,000 ft in the air. At the time, I'm sure I rolled my eyes or something equally rude and teenager-ish. I was (am) a brat like that. It's hard to recognize love when it comes in such an unadulterated form.

For me, travelling is a way to escape and gain perspective. Having this blog seems like another way to do that, even when I'm stationary. I can have the objectivity being 10,000 ft in the air can give and still be completely safe, protected behind the wing of the interwebs.

Over the years, even as I book my own flights, I still sit in same space. I never checked to see if Gramp was right. Doesn't matter. For me, the safest place is a window seat behind the wing.