As I flew at thirty-thousand feet, I had the rare space in time to cogitate upon the human condition, but just a microcosm of that broad membership; my own.
Up there, with the thick carpet of clouds hiding the world I knew below, I felt cushioned from the realities of daily scenes of survival and defeat.
Of course, there are many kinds of survival in life. In fact, our existence is bordered by failure and success as we make our daily attempts at living.
Growing up is a constant process during this mortal sojourn. We struggle to crawl, walk, speak, listen, all the while making our unique imprint on the world we pass through. Our efforts may be met with achievement and accolades, but all to often, ego-crushing failure and shattered dreams. I am acquainted with all of it.
I have come to a stark conclusion in this mental rambling on being human.
Life is fraught with the danger of being less-than good, less-than brilliant, less-than the perfect mother, wife, daughter, friend, I could be... if only I was not... human!
We can't relieve our time in this fragile form, but we can remember to make our next day worth the effort of living at all!
It isn't easy admitting to weakness or fears, even to yourself while sitting strapped to a chair in an object hurtling through the cloudless sky like a prehistoric bird. But then, I never said it was easy to be human. I will admit there were times I told my old and faithful companion how lucky he was to be so loved...but then...he was my dog.