I’m at the airport waiting for a flight to Seattle. My identity as an Alaskan has been informed by flight. We’ve perfected it: There’s flight as a geographical solution to a problem, as a getaway vacation (think Hawaii or Arizona), as flight from adversity, and (my personal favorite) as flight from one’s self. It’s a lot of work to run, to believe that answers are found in getting away from something or in going to something: the job, the relationship, your relatives, yourself.
Here in the boarding area are families and single travelers, some anxiously hovering, others in makeshift napping positions, snoring softly. It’s been a rough year: state budget cuts to jobs and vital service programs, the 7.2 earthquake in November, and the unprecedented wildfires—fast, deep, and hot—that consumed over two million acres this summer. I’m guessing some folks are demoralized or frightened. Leaving, flying to family or to hospitable destinations has been increased by our current troubles. Flying is the best way out: otherwise it’s days of driving or traveling by boat through Canada. The airlines have hatched ingenious service programs to cultivate that desire to flee and to create a sense of class and specialness in the process. They work beautifully for those who have the resources to use them.
Where am I going? I said Seattle. But I’m also fleeing 2019 and its myriad perils: Alaska’s problems, the refugee crisis, the food crisis, climate change. I’m hiding for a brief time in 1981 when flight was a good thing, when it didn’t matter that it added carbon to the atmosphere, when everything could be about me—my comfort, my fun, my high. I’m fleeing From Bone To Sky: the hard work it will take to grow the blog, the webinars and workshops; the base camp of kindness; the space to launch your vision of what you can be in these perilous times. We jump, leap, and fly to the next level; to heroism; we lean out into the mercy of the Holy One, the touch of the Sacred.
My goal is to mount a blog every two-three days. This one took a week. Sometimes it’s just hard. It’s just hard. It’s just hard to respond heroically to trouble, to what we fear, and to allow ourselves to be hollowed out and transformed. Thank you. Thank you deeply. For reading.