Grounded

In the past four months, I've taken two flights. Both to Oakland. That barely qualifies as a flight. You take off, you order a ginger ale, you have thirty seconds to finish it, you land.

As my flight began its descent into LAX, the old feelings returned. The wanderlust, you can call it. The desire to get the heck out of wherever you may be. Man, I miss it.

I'm not complaining. You have to know what it feels like to be grounded, to fully appreciate what it means to fly. And I can't wait to fly.