Plane ride musings

In some ways, a long plane ride is a perfect way to transition from one experience to another.  As the plane gained speed down the runway I wanted to scream “slow down!” like I did the first time I rode the log ride in the Wisconsin Dells.  I distinctly remember us in our little fiberglass log, slowly climbing, climbing, higher and higher, ever nearing our impending fall, and all I could think about was how terrified I was of falling, so I tried desperately to plead with anyone who would listen to stop the ride!  Let me off! 

But the plane was cleared for take off and in the air we went. 

So many miles in the air, so far away from the cities and fields and streams and deserts of either of my homes, it’s easy to feel disconnected from them both.  Sitting in this metal cocoon shooting through the sky, distance is created for me, an ending made and a different life renewed.  I am leaving Israel.  I am going to the United States.  I left one life behind and am on my way to continue the one I put on pause five months ago…

…from before I fell in love.

I’m not that old, so it goes without question that I remember the first time I fell in love.  I remember how terrified I was to utter those words to that boy but how satisfied I was once I heard it and how I silently let a tear or two drip down my cheek when he said it back that night over the phone.  I remember how, for the first time, I really trusted my gut and let myself express what my heart was trying desperately to tell my brain through its pulsing Morse code.

Now I’ve fallen in love a second time and not with a single person but a whole society, a country.  In five months (or more if you include my first trip there), I fell in love with tall, dark, and handsome men.  I fell in love with wide-eyed black-haired women.  I fell in love with frolicking care-free children.  I fell in love with old, wrinkled, smiling faces who’ve weathered war and peace and cared for so many children as their own.  I fell in love with strangers on the street and taxi drivers and produce sellers and security guards.

And I think they love me, too.

I suppose it doesn’t matter how or with whom you fall in love because the feeling itself comes from the same place – somewhere deep and secretive, rarely revealed but always waiting to be seen.  So why don’t we let it free more often?  Because it’s terrifying.  Just when you think you have it all figured it out, Love sneaks up on you and messes things up, puts thoughts in your head to which you never paid heed, and shakes your world just enough to make you lose your balance.

Then again, common sense should tell me that like any new relationship this is just infatuation, pure and simple, and when I get home I’ll realize where my heart really lies and leave it at that.  I’ll continue living my life as I’d planned it originally: become a high school music teacher, marry a nice Jewish boy from a suburb with a strong Jewish community, have a few kids, and spend all the major Jewish holidays and celebrations with my family.

Then again, man makes plans and God laughs.