“Do you want to come to New York?” my friend writes through WhatsApp. “I’ve got tons of miles, come.”

I sit and ponder for a moment. NYC. It’s not even two full days, and yet two cross-country flights. The age-old debate ensues in my head briefly: is it worth that half-day of travel for less than 48 hours on the ground? Case in point: I won’t fly to Thailand from the US for anything less than a three-week stay because those trips wreak havoc.

And yet …

“Sure,” I respond. Because why not.
Get me on a plane.

A few days later, an offer comes across to speak at an event in Toronto. The next week.

Again, I quickly ponder. Not even two full days. Two cross-country flights. 24 hours in between returning to Vegas and hopping on another two flights to Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

Sure. Why not.

And, so it has gone this year.

I Google Flight the world. I book tickets for quick trips up and down the west coast. When those Frontier offers drop into my inbox, I gleefully open them to see how far I can get for only $19 each way (Nashville from Vegas!).

I fly for work, I fly for friends. I fly to watch a tv premiere, snuggle with a pup and drink wine with one of my best friends.

There’s an excitement to jetting off on quick trips. I know they are tiring, but these little jaunts make me feel alive. Make me feeling like I’m doing something. Give me a break from my yellow-cushioned uncomfortable chair at my desk (why I have not upgraded, I do not know). It’s a pause on my desert, a reset. A little story in another city that is an addendum to my current trajectory.

Even when I arrive in New York, it seamlessly blends into my life and wandering the streets gives me a much-needed time out from lap tops. Sure, work comes with me, and much of my travels are actually for work, but lately I find myself saying yes to those long flights with short breaks. I look forward to the wifi on planes to get writing done and the silence from my phone because I keep that peacefully in airplane mode. To the window view. To new views in general.

In the next two months, I have nearly 20 flights (I swear, direct flights are becoming less and less of a thing in my world) and I’m excited about each and every one of them.

I can’t decide if I have an addiction to planes, the destination or the entire journey?

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