Dear J-
The last few nights have been marked with tons of air traffic overhead — either the Marines are stepping up operations at Miramar or we’ve had a lot more criminals hiding out in the neighborhood (the police are particularly fond of circling in helicopters and using the PA system to talk to us on the ground like some strange voice from on high). Given the near-constant roar without the chopper noises, though, it’s much more likely to be the good folks at MCAS Miramar. It’s a strange sort of thunder over the horizon, but it’s turning into part of the background here, like rain on the roof or the wind through the trees elsewhere.
It’s hard to think of San Diego as an aviation sort of town, as the coastal setting and Naval presence (three major bases, a shipyard, hospital — and that’s not counting the Marines) make you think of of the sea and ships instead, but there you have it — we live within fifteen miles of three airports or air bases, and there’s always been some air traffic overhead. It’s strange to consider traffic in three dimensions, a mishmash of vectors and altitudes, as we follow asphalt lines on maps without incident every day. Yet it’s the way our lives unfold, a thousand directions all at once that could only be represented in real space and time.
One of the guys I work with is not only a pilot, but a pilot instructor as well; I’ve thought of that as one of those someday life skills to pick up: yeah, someday, maybe. There’s a certain gravity to his manner, a calm dignity in explaining things to everyone, be it the simplest or most complex things we do, and I can already imagine his air demeanor. If I’m really going to be teaching people — whether coworkers or family — like I imagine, I’d do best to contrast the background roar with those calm words; I always have so much work to do with patience.
Dear J- 