…and in case I don't see ya: good afternoon, good evening, and good night!

There's something kinda surreal about traveling without being the driver/conductor/etc. When I do long- or short-distance driving, I don't experience this: I drove the car, I was invested in the conduction of my person from point A to point B, and my actions mattered to all aspects of the journey. When I'm flying (or… training?, that can't be the right word), there's the small niggling feeling or suspicion that I never actually went anywhere, that it's all a charade, that I've been tricked. I don't truly believe it, but I also can't quite shake that tiniest remnant.

Here I am, having trained (still can't be the correct verb) from home to Chicago, then taken four consecutive flights to PHX, LAX, NAN, and now WLG, having met varieties of people, experienced many different weathers, and objectively understood the processes and technologies involved—infrastructure I never question that millions of other people actually take/use every day. Yet, as I look out this window at the alleged Pacific Ocean, supposedly 37 thousand feet below me, I can't help but hear the tiny whisper, "it's all a lie, and everyone's out to get you!"

I don't feel this persecution suspicion in any other contexts, either—just when I'm traveling by a method which I'm not personally conducting.