Flighty

Among the many benefits to becoming a flight attendant, I told myself, was the immense time I could devote to the craft I'd spent four years at university also completely neglecting: writing. Having become a flight attendant in the spring of 2010, I told myself I would finally do it. I had the inspiration, the time, and of course the endless adoration of the nameless internet fans bound to fall in love with my blog and offer me sponsorship, money, and a book deal to pad my otherwise sparse bank account.

I created this blog in June 2010, wrote one mediocre entry describing my crescendo into the world of airlines, and then promptly forgot it existed at all.

That's one problem with being a flight attendant; sometimes, I just feel well--flighty. I had romantic thoughts of sitting in a cozy terminal corner with my airport-priced coffee in one hand and a pen stuck thoughtfully to my lips with the other. I'd observe the frenzied crowds and discover the next great American novel coded in their chaos.

Instead, after time I found the chaos exhausting, the crowds overwhelming. After hours serving on a plane, I often find myself collapsing into a dark, isolated corner, the quietest spots in the busiest places in the world. I gulp a coffee and forgo my diet completely for the messy embrace of a chocolate muffin, closing my eyes and reminding myself that nobody around knows me well enough to judge. I often just want to close my eyes and hope nobody approaches me in query of the location of their baggage.

However, this is my resolution: fatigue is no longer an excuse. I'm more than just an employee of an airplane and I don't want to lose my thoughts to the sky. This job makes holding relationships difficult, but while it is hard to lose touch with your friends, it is especially sad to have lost touch with yourself.