I online-stumbled across a fascinating story today. I find it haunting and beautiful, but I take issue with the writer. Like we are apt to do as humans, he labeled something he didn’t understand as “irrational.” I don’t think Craig Button was irrational. I think he lived by his own priorities. And even those priorities aren’t really so strange. Most people, if asked whether they’d like a long and miserable life or a short and happy one, would choose short and sweet. Or at least that’s what they’d say.
And while I can’t picture myself ever doing what he did (I want to live for-fucking-ever, personally), I felt every moment of his story. I could imagine the frustration of flying an incredibly powerful machine, but only in pre-planned manuevers as dictated to you over a radio. Who wouldn’t at least dream of taking it for the joyride of a lifetime, through such a beautiful place? And of course when he came down, he’d be done for. He’d never fly again, he’d be locked up, and the only way he’d ever get back any semblance of a life would be to crack and call it all a big mistake, to rip from himself what I imagine was the most beautiful moment of his life.
For me, flying is a lot more internal, and harder to take away. Another instance of how life kinder to me than to most. But if I were ever in his cockpit, in his mind, I’d come pretty close to choosing the side of a beautiful mountain too, and I’d expect you all to be damn proud of me if I did.