We used to dream of flight, it seems something almost essential to the human experience, this dream.
It appears, to me, to be a confluence of many of the facts of the human condition: the inquisitiveness we’ve evolved to help us invent and create to survive, our want to escape from where we are that has driven us to safety and to new horizons, our creativity and our imagination most importantly – that all humans, when looking at the sky, seeing birds soar through it, dream of joining them up their and flying freely with them.
That is a beautiful idea, undeniably.
I love the dream of flight, I think it is inspiring and beautiful, create and glorious, beautiful, beautiful indeed.
When I was young me and my father used to make those little model planes and fly them around the park for hours and hours. We’d watch it soar through the sky and just wonder at it. My Father wanted to be a commercial pilot, he had gone through the whole training program and had done really well, only to be told that he had a slight eye defect and that ruled him out of the whole thing.
I think it really affected him, it was one of the main contributors to his deep sense of dissatisfaction that drove him to such stress and anxiety later in life. I have no desire to be a professional pilot, but I sure do love to fly.
I drive up to Liverpool all the time and watch the planes (nightmare finding where to park your car at Liverpool John Lennon Airport, but I’ve managed it and so can you on Airport Parking Market) once I’ve parked the car.