I’ll sleep on the plane…
C.E. Grundler
No, there are no major travel plans in my immediate future, at least not that I’m aware of. “I’ll sleep on the plane,” is an expression I’ve used on occasion over the last two decades, and this morning, well before sunrise, I found myself thinking that as my husband and I walked the dogs. Just make it through the next few days and I’ll sleep on the plane.
It was close to twenty years ago and we were heading off on a rare ‘get on a plane and go somewhere’ vacation, two weeks in Alaska with my parents and our daughter, exploring Denali Park and the region’s waters aboard a small and spartan vessel that could reach areas the mega cruise ships couldn’t access. It was a trip full of wonderful memories, but one of the most vivid was my exhaustion leading up to departure. We were still in the process of rebuilding the house, which was literally in a bulldozer’s sights before we bought it. My brother-in-law would be house-sitting and dog-watching, including the then still very much a puppy Moxie, found two weeks before we were due to leave. The most difficult puppies can grow to be the best dogs, but first you must survive the ‘rotten puppy’ stage.
But puppies and construction zones aside, the bottom line is I’m just a tad OCD, and taking me outside my usual zones of control can be an interesting experiment in human behavior. I have to make absolutely certain that everything I can possibly determine is in place during my absence, and that all will run smoothly over that time. Needless to say, as the days ticked down I become consumed with making certain everything was in order, both in trip preparations and home operations. In the case of the Alaska trip, I had lists of lists, and I distinctly remember thinking, “Once I’m on the plane, in the air, I can’t do anymore. It’ll be out of my hands. I’ll sleep on the plane.”
In theory, at least.
Reality. Boarded at dawn. Settle into my window seat, look out at the Newark sights. Plane takes off. Rising sun streams through my window. Pull the shade. Plane turns slightly, and now the sun streams through the window one row up. Plane remains on the same heading for hours, following the low sun across time zones and latitudes. Somewhere over those flat, square states they put between the coasts it hit me. It was summertime and we were heading towards the land of the midnight sun. I recall standing on an airstrip in Anchorage, staring straight up at the sun, now directly overhead. I never slept a fraction of a second on the plane, or even the second connecting flight. According to my watch, still on NJ time, it was four A.M., and that bleeping sun was thumbtacked in the middle of the damned sky and not moving. I like the dark. A lot. I never realized how much, though, until that moment.
Sleeping on the plane has evolved to mean whenever I set myself deadlines, and then push myself harder and harder as that date draws near. Writing and editing brings out the “I’ll sleep on the plane” mentality in me, and so does working on the boat. Add to that downsizing 30+ years of life, sorting and inventorying my existence to only what matters most. The dates I’ve imposed on myself are unofficial and will not be announced. They’re simply a great motivation, within reason. And that sleeping on the plane thing — it comes with no guarantees. Sometimes all you manage to do is arrive exhausted.
Writing, boats, and life in general. All best tackled one step at a time, taking things as they come, and occasionally taking a nap. And next time I travel far north, I’ll do it when the sun is back in setting mode.
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