clean-up in aisle four

The laptop in front of me is new. The nylon jacket tied around my waist is new. The Detroit Tigers baseball cap on the seat beside me is new. The used books shoved in any free space whatsoever in my carry-on are new (to me). But some things never change. I am 30,000 feet above the Earth. My gut twists, but it has nothing to do with the gentle burr of the plane, or with the massive quantities of excellent Italian food I’ve been stuffing in my face. It is the same, the only contraction of good-byes said to people I love. My earth shifts quickly these days, little shudders of difference, of newness. Laughter comes easily and genuinely, and my abdominal muscles thank me for it. Each day I wake up looking forward to whatever life might throw at me. Of course,...

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