As we were driving northward from Los Angeles we saw two paraglider’s calmly flying above the highway. Richelle and I spontaneously exclaimed we wanted to be up there like them, in the clouds looking down at the ground from a new perspective. So we looked up people in the Bay Area who could take us up in the sky with them, and in the matter of ten minutes we had an appointment booked for Saturday at 1PM.
So we arrive amid the fog of a chilly Northern Californian day as mentally prepared as we can be. What we didn’t realize was that it was mostly emotional rather than mental. The take-off was comedically rocky, but once in the sky the view took over our thoughts. We sat there, guided by the wind, feet dangling, observing the landscape below, the waves gently crashing where they met land, the side of the mountain bare with rock after a mini avalanche, black dots of people moving about slowly, like ants but without a clear direction. My instructor, who I was flying with, kept asking me how I was doing. I couldn’t explain it in the moment, because I’d gone quiet and was indeed not in the mood to converse. It was me, small, recent grad and all her thoughts about the future, and the overwhelming beauty of nature. Yes, my life may be uncertain or inconsistent now. But is it ever really certain? Nature manages to be both a constant and ever-changing. Like the shape of waves crashing ashore, or the facade of a mountain freshly torn open.
This evening we went out dancing (finally!) but I was cold from being up so high, and still taking in what I had seen, my eyes too small to fully comprehend.