I hoisted myself onto a northbound propeller plane this past weekend. Whenever I fly, during every single takeoff, one of my irrationalities unforgivingly emerges. Even though I’ve tried to dispel my fears about flying, telling myself not to worry according to various mantra-like methods, my heartbeat quickens and my breath shortens. This lasts just a few minutes with each flight. I’m not asking for pity – this is just what happens. My life would be less exciting, less strange, less filled to the brim with all sorts of charming types if I chose not to fly. En somme, I frequently place myself in potentially uncomfortable situations – like flying. Like flying to Toronto so that I could speak on a panel discussion about a topic on which I knew almost nothing.
Even though I had just a weekend in TO – a city far more Autumnal in early October than Chicago – my short trip was filled with Nuit Blanche, non-Nuit art, and things not exactly art (like rice milk sake). Part one will be posted soon!