The Flight Path
Written on the 6 train from 86th to 51st
***
Backstory: I was thinking about life. Actually. Wait. That sounds too passive and general. It’s like when you ask how someone is and they say, “Fine.” No one is ever just “fine.” C’mon now.
So let me rephrase: I was struggling through the fucking impossible landscape that is existence, thinking about how difficult it is in the modern age to just be. How our minds are always pulled in a new direction—shout out to Wednesday Addams (if you’re a theatre nerd, you’ll get that reference).
This bite-sized piece came to be.
***
“It’s like a flight path,” he grimaced. “Or perhaps 100 trillion flight paths…
“Our brains are always sending all these-these-these signals, forming all these pathways. And you know, we used to choose the objects of our desire—who or what received our attention. And those choices would build our minds; build pathways like kingdoms. But we aren’t in the driver’s seat anymore. We are the princess locked in a tower made of our thick human skulls, and our brains are being courted… By hundreds of suitors at once. And let’s be real, we aren’t finding Prince Charming. It’s just making us all fucking cheaters.
“You’re spending quality time with Prince TV until—oops, phone is buzzing—gotta get freaky with Prince Text. You’re working out at the gym, all your attention on your breath until “Breaking News” flashes across the screens that over-saturate all modern gyms. Suddenly, your breath no longer gets the time of day. You’re sitting on the subway, and your eyes and thoughts are pulled to the line of advertisements—drugs, makeup, injury lawyers—posted across the top of the subway car. Hands are reaching out to your mind. Each mysterious Prince is saying, “Come be with me!” And we humans—we horny fuckers—always follow the new shiny route rather than sticking with our flight path.
“Oh, shit. Flight paths. Right. Sorry, I got a little off track there with my analogies.
“So, what was I saying? Ah, yes. Neurons firing are the planes flying. We all have carefully constructed flight paths in our brains, sending signals where they need to go. And we can adjust and build new flight paths, sure. But that takes control. Focus. Diligence.
“So, what happens if, rather than intentionally focusing and rerouting, the air traffic controllers just become distracted? What happens if a plane is suddenly pulled in the wrong direction?
“Ka-boom.” He laughed.
He looked at his lecture hall. Stars glinted through the gaping hole in the roof, dust and rubble scattered over the empty desks. Even those students who had made it—if any had—wouldn’t risk leaving what was left of their homes. He’d risked it, though. He’d walked the devastated streets to come to the lecture hall just as he had for the past 20 years.
“Don’t look so shocked,” he said to no one. “If we let our inner selves crash and burn, if we let the chaos of the world pull us off our internal flight paths…well, what did we expect to happen out here?”