Las Vegas (part 2): The Flight

On July 7, 2012 I boarded a plane in Nashville, TN that would get me to Las Vegas, NV with a lay-over in Atlanta, GA.  I started writing this last Sunday (July 15^th), but as with all other writing assignments, that did not exactly go as planned.  In fact, I got so little done before saving and quitting that I am starting over right now as I work on my laptop without internet access.  I did, however, think a lot about what I wanted to write so hopefully I can regurgitate that now.

Most people just wisely sleep away those hours that would otherwise be lost during a flight.  Not me; I guess one might say that it is the perfect time to let my mind run wild.  There is so much available for consumption:  business persons, flight attendants, tourists, vacationers, and just people; all those people living interesting and intriguing lives; that could be me, if only I could be interesting.  I should probably remind myself it is all just imaginary; that glimpse I give myself it is only a fantasy.  Of course that is the problem with fantasy, it is unrealistic by nature.

This trip marks only the second time I have ever been on a plane.  Sadly, the only other time I have been on a plane was also to fly here, to Vegas, when my brother got married.  This is where I could pretend to be macho and say flying is no big thing, but I am not macho and it is a pretty amazingly big thing.  First of all, it is amazing to think those giant metal tubes actually get off the ground.  It is a little bit of a surreal experience:  me being in one of those big jets, which I could never fully tell you about; nevertheless I will bore you with far too many details in the attempt to achieve the impossible.

Nashville to Atlanta was on a smaller aircraft.  I was in the ninth row.  Just guessing there were probably about 2x as many rows behind me as there were in-front.  I had the window seat and in the aisle seat was some guy that appeared to be having a bad day.  It made for a very uncomfortable flight.  I am not sure if his disapproving sighs and scoffs were intended for me or not, but my high level of self-consciousness would allow no other explanation.  I spent the entire flight focused on limiting my behavior to the bare minimum.  I squeezed myself into the smallest space I could and held that position; careful not to use the arm rest, allowing him to claim it if he desired (he never did).  I attempted to refrain from any behavior that might be deemed annoying; if I could have stopped breathing, I would have.  This probably sounds silly to most people, but it cannot be helped.  Honestly, I hate it; however, I cannot ignore it.  I can pretend like I do not care, but then I must deal with the regret associated with that attitude.  These regrets are the kinds of things that linger; I would rather deal with temporary discomfort than live with the continuous playback associated with a moment of regret (like incidentally brushing up against someone, or hogging an arm rest).  Shuddap, I know!  I am a mess.

I do not know if the second leg of the journey was better or worse.  I was in a better state of mind, since I was not so concerned with my impact on the person (or people) next to me.  This was a bit of a relief until it allowed me to focus on the giant metal tube that we were floating in and everything that might go wrong in that situation.  I would not say I am afraid of flying though.  It is not exactly a fear of death either; oddly it is deeper than that.  In the grand scheme of things we all have only a limited time to make an impact on the world.  One hopes to grow old with that time and find meaning.  Some grow old, never achieving meaning.  Still others pass before their time.  An accident such as a plane crash would strip my life of the opportunity to grow old and find meaning.  However, to exchange one life in the service of another is the greatest meaning a life could have.  But, here I am with this death talk; honestly, it was not that bad.  My palms got sweaty after I did all that thinking about plane crashes, cabin pressure, hijackings, and some awesome movie plots.  I also had to remind myself that no matter how many times one watches the Matrix, it is still impossible to learn to fly an aircraft on a moment’s notice.

Since all that fills my head now is on the subject of movies, I must also say:  the flight attendant reminded me of Catherine Zeta-Jones in The Terminal.  I am not sure if that is to the flight attendant’s credit for being beautiful or to the actress herself for imitating reality so well.  Perhaps it was purely a subconscious association between fantasy and the movie.  Picturing myself as the hero, Mr. Hanks’ character, ultimately there was nothing neither he nor I could do to win over the woman’s heart.  In the end everything unfolded as it should. I walked away just another individual among the many she comes across in a day and here I am two weeks later recollecting her beautiful smile and incredible enthusiasm; hoping she has someone out there that can tell her how much she is appreciated.  Why can’t my story be more like Elizabethtown?  Kirsten Dunst is cute and her character in that movie is so lovable.  Perhaps it has something to do with me not being Orlando Bloom.

At 5:22 the plane had landed in Vegas.  Soon all these crazy thoughts I had been having would finally be confirmed as wild fantasies.  By 5:37 I was in my brother’s truck, Kirsten Dunst had not given me her number or directions for that matter.  Before 6:00 I would be at the house, a place I had never been and never thought of calling home until now.  I had no idea what was in store for me, but at least I had finally made it.

Las Vegas (part 1): The Decision

I had several misconceptions about what I was getting myself into.  In all honesty though, I did not know what else to do.  I was struggling: in school, in life, and at working.  I quit my last real job (minimum wage, Shift Leader position, at a corporate owned Subway Franchisee) almost a year ago.  I was working at a mattress store for my younger brother when they needed an extra body for deliveries, but that was hardly a job.  I constantly forget to consider it a job myself (seriously what did I do for a year)!  Somewhere around May, the mattress store stopped calling me.  I thought it was strange they had gotten so slow, but eventually I would find out the owner hired his best friend and they did not need me anymore.  I was taking out maximum student loans; however, my grades were not good enough to suggest I spent most my day not working at my “hardly a job” and focused on school.  I did do some job searching, but I was far more selective than when I got the job at Subway.  I was hoping to get something that generated valuable experience, but even then I filled out some desperation applications.  I did everything, but ask for my old job back.  I did think about it though and even joked about it on a former co-workers facebook wall hoping he might take the joke seriously and bring it up with the manager or something.

I really think that was my big problem:  I did not know what I wanted enough to go out and find it.  I would have done anything, but really only wanted something that would give me experience.  Experience in what though, that is the question, Marketing is so broad and Psychology? Sales, advertising, strategic marketing, I/O psychology, human resources, research data entry!?!?  I do not know, that is why after I got a call from someone that saw my resume online, I pursued the opportunity.  Two “interviews” in Nashville took a toll on my empty wallet and unless I could start making cash immediately it did not look like I would be able to make it to work!  I walked away from that opportunity and I still wonder if that was the right decision; nobody else even called me for an interview.

In a lot of ways, I needed change.  My only plan for the last 5 years had been to get a degree.  Then after three years that began to get a little difficult and everything else just seemed to crumble around me.  If the last 2 years have taught me anything it is that I am not a good student and I could not just keep going to school.  For fall semester, I took two classes I actually needed and four classes that I just decided I wanted to take.  After that semester, I only need a passing grade in one class.  This is not me giving up, but I never heard anything sound that simple before that seems so incredibly impossible at the same time.  I have to take a break from University; perhaps it will be simpler after a little bit of change.

The plan I came up with in my head was to finish up what schooling I was enrolled in, come out to Vegas and help my brother, eventually take the business back to Kentucky (where most of our family is), then one day pick a city and start the same business there.  Once again, I was blind to reality for all the fantasy my mind creates.  I led myself to imagine the business was constantly booming and that I would be able to work frequently for my brother and make a lot of money in a fairly short amount of time.  The reality is my brother might work a lot from April to June, but even from April-June his peak business days are Friday to Sunday.  Also I found out that just because his business sounds easy, does not make it so.  It is a lot more work than I realized.

The Source of Inspiration

English 300-8:00 am           Essay #3—Informative              25 June, 2012             M. Aaron Miller

The Source of Inspiration

            A good friend suggested I write about where inspiration comes from.  Despite giving no confirmation that I would take up this task, I have labored endlessly since that moment in nearly constant meditation and contemplation on the subject.  For all these consideration, the page remained blank; my mind had not settled on how to proceed.  The amateur psychologist inside my head wanted to start with the definition.  Inspiration is the conversation, a communication transcending the simple exchange of words, which originates in the heart of one individual and is available for public consumption; for those lucky enough to hear the conversation the impact is felt in their heart.  This means that inspiration is essentially a heart-to-heart, but with no limit to how many hearts get involved.  However, it was evident that the definition alone would not be good enough.  Tension began to mount, I was having some really good ideas, but still not content with anything to begin writing it and time was ticking away.

            That is when something occurred to me, I was afraid.  I was looking for words to fill the page, but there is no such thing as “good enough” and more than just words must fill the page, when writing about inspiration.  Although I knew that I could do that, having done it before; I was afraid, because I also knew what it entailed.  Inspiration is a two-way process one must go through; however, this is commonly over-looked.  Indeed, society refers to inspiration colloquially as the receiving or taking in of something.  However, Isaac Newton’s study of physics has left society with an explanation in his third law of motion: for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.  Inspiration, as society considers it, is only the reaction.

            The action of inspiration is one individual’s personal sacrifice to share a piece of their heart with the world.  This is no small feat, showing the world what one believes in, what one is made of.  Sometimes it can be emotionally taxing, but even when it is not, it tends to leave a person vulnerable and exposed.  This is what I am most afraid of; feeling that much and putting myself out there, not knowing if it will be enough to satisfy my toughest critic, myself.

            The reaction of inspiration allows for a choice: we can either open ourselves up to its affects or downplay its significance.  It feels as if fear has pigeonholed me into the latter of these two for far too long.  There was a time when my heart was open, ready to receive inspiration; this was before cynicism took control.  Just as with Santa or the Easter Bunny, somewhere along the way, one may stop believing and when that happens the magic dissipates.

            Thus far, I have explained what inspiration is and how it is effectively a process.  Now to answer the question at hand, ‘Where does inspiration come from?’  I believe inspiration comes from everywhere and anyone.  It starts in the heart and originates from honesty.  It stems from those among us that believe in something so completely that it is felt through our actions.  In conclusion, this is what I know about inspiration: it is a two-way process (both sharing and receiving), how it influences us is our choice, and it is the intimate conversation between two hearts.

 Having said these things, I wish to introduce a conversation, from the heart of Meghan Vogel, recently shared in the news (I recommend my readers also read at least one of the articles quoted here, to be more fully immersed in the conversation):  “[Vogel] committed one of the most selfless acts of the year on the track: She stopped running the 3,200-meter final to help along a foe who had collapsed just 20 feet from the finish line” (Smith, 2012).  “Within 20 feet of the finish line, Arden McMath, a sophomore from Arlington High School, collapsed in front of Vogel. Rather than run by her, Vogel helped McMath to her feet and helped her across the finish line” (Long, 2012).    It might be what anyone would do in that situation, but not just anyone will be granted the opportunity.  When Meghan had to make the decision to help a foe or keep running, she did what she knew was right and in that action her honest belief was manifest.

References

Long, D. (June 5, 2012). WLS state champ lends a helping hand. Springfield News-Sun. Accessed online, June 25, 2012: http://www.springfieldnewssun.com/springfield-oh-sports/high-school-sports/wls-state-champ-lends-a-helping-hand--1385613.html

Smith, C. (June 5, 2012). Ohio runner stops in state final to aid fallen opponent. Prep Rally blog. Accessed online, June 25, 2012: http://sports.yahoo.com/blogs/highschool-prep-rally/ohio-runner-stops-state-final-aid-fallen-opponent-100722161.html