Thoughts from 35,000 feet

At 35000 ft things are supposed to be clearer than they seem today.

Not clearer in the sense of being able to see the ground perfectly without those patches of puffy white cloud as the jet soars northward, but clearer in the sense of being able to see the big picture, something I like to think I have a fairly keen sense of being able to do with certain clarity most days.  But when presented with the actual unique perspective of seeing the world from 35000 ft above, watching the rocky snow capped tops of mountains far below rising sharply from the land around them - dotted areas of human experience the minority among the angular slopes - I'm less sure of what I need and what I know than I was a week ago when we first flew into the Arizona desert.

I've left something of my soul behind this trip, and while that isn’t a departure from previous trips for me, this time feels like I've left something important, and I'm not quite feeling whole.

Maybe it was the desert sun, such a stark contrast to the winter snow and wind- chills we left behind allowing us to bare our arms and legs in shorts and t-shirts instead of wooly layers, or maybe it was the barren landscape of browns and washed out greens, the desolate remains of fertile plains baked by the sun for centuries as the rivers carried soils southward, the scrubby granular backdrop to a story of survival and perseverance that called to me.  Or maybe it was the chance to finally experience a place that I have been to many times in my mind but never in person, an opportunity to cement a connection that has been growing for many years, one which has sustained me and fulfilled me in ways I never knew I needed.

This trip was planned around the boy and hockey, a chance for a hard-luck team to experience success at the end of a season of disappointment and return home for the playoffs re-energized and reminded of how winning feels, hopefully to create momentum to mount a charge against much higher seeded opponents.  A 1-27 squad arrived and fought their way to the final four in Phoenix before bowing out in an early morning loss on Monday, going 3-2 during the tournament and bonding together away from the rinks in the way that only a trip away from home can provide - poolside time without parents and coaches, day trips to experience the local attractions, and teen-aged independence in a foreign country help to create the men these boys will become.  Where this year's season ends is yet to be decided, but there is no denying they will have changed thanks to this week.

And while hockey was the reason we found ourselves in Phoenix in mid- February, we took advantage of the trip to further expand our horizons and see more of this world if even for only a few extra days, and experience as much of what the area has to offer as we could given the time constraints. Half the team decided to stay a few more days beyond the end of the games to either relax or sightsee instead of returning to the ice and snow.

We've learned we need to do this, not content to sit and stay if we can drive and see and do when in a new land, and this trip afforded us a unique ability to see and do with local knowledge and guidance, a welcomed treasure to be sure, one which accelerated our ability to extract the nuances from the sites and scenery in a way we could never have hoped to do on our own. 

And so we set out to see the Arizona that exists outside the desert playground, the one that offers stunning vistas and changing geographies within an hour's drive north on I17.  We were treated to ancient ruins and stony cliffs, arid soils dotted with cactus and desert vegetation, pine forests and wooded parklands, and towering jagged peaks topped with frosted snow in the distance.  The elevations changed as quickly as the landscape and for the flat-landers from the North it was a treat for the senses, though we could do without the pressure changes every now and then, and let’s not speak of the snow that followed us south…

We stepped back in time along Route 66 in Williams, AZ then further back at the South rim of the Grand Canyon - 'the big hole'- and where many might find a certain ambivalence surrounding the natural wonder, Karen and I most certainly felt a connection to the area, even though we only spent a few short hours along it's edge.  The boy seemed intrigued but also a little fearful, perhaps challenged by the reality of the landscapes, and hopefully in time he will find the hours spent here to be beneficial to his understanding of his surroundings. I got to frame the lands through a viewfinder this time, again not so different from trips past, but a new camera provided a new lens through which to filter the sights, and while not yet fully comfortable with the new gear it did allow me greater freedom and artistic license to capture my perspectives.

The same was true of the hockey I watched, not as a parent tuned solely to my son the way most parents are, but through the camera lens I was able to find a profound distance from the boy which brought increased clarity and acceptance of the reality of the games, far removed from the normal ego-centric view from the stands.  Framing shots of each player as they moved through the contests, I watched the activity unfold rather than willing it to happen, and when favorable outcomes appeared I was fully present and able to capture tiny moments of time, freezing them forever, able to step through them slowly and perfectly, uncovering details usually lost in the speed of the action.

Maybe that's why I feel less than whole today - though I know I need more time to reflect upon the week to truly help it settle - maybe that's what I left behind. In the desert mountains and ancient landscape I found something I didn't know I had lost, and in wrapping it up to carry forward with me I was forced to uncover and leave behind a part of my nature that has always seemed central to who I was. 

The boys came to Phoenix to leave behind a hockey past and carry home a new future.  I came to Phoenix with open eyes and found in its ancient past a part of my soul that has lain dormant and quiet, an understanding that watching my world through a different lens allows more light in and creates greater time and space, letting me be still in the chaos.  The silence of the Arizona soul, still existing in quiet corners and deep within the lands, will speak to you if you let it, but it can be difficult to hear it through the constant noise of the future.

I was wrong. Things are perfectly clear up here at 35000 ft. Sometimes you need that distance to help you focus and allow the true image to appear.