Flight Home

by The Philosophical Fish

I’m tired. I’m kind of sick of meetings, but at least this one was a change of scenery. Yesterday’s meeting was an all day one, but I could only attend a little less than half of it because I had to travel to the Interior for another meeting. Arguably, I could have called in to the one up here out of town but, instead, I called into the one in Vancouver yesterday and flew to this one. I hate calling in to meetings regardless. You don’t have facial and body cues to assist with interpretation of dialogue, it’s too easy to be distracted by a computer screen in front of you, a smartphone, of people sticking their head around the corner doing the “can I just talk to you for a sec” motion, and half the time you can’t hear what’s going on because people in the room mumble and forget anyone is trying to hear on the phone.

So it was a decision, attend the all day meeting at home base, or attend the meeting in another city.

Given the number of people physically in the room at the first meeting I figured I wasn’t an essential participant so I opted to call into that one. And, given how poorly I know the staff in the other sectors in the other meeting out of town, that one seemed to be the obvious one to attend for some face time.

At the call in meeting, I struggled to hear what was being said, and so did a colleague who kept texting me with “Who was that?” “What did he say? messages. I really hate calling in to meetings. I’d rather just get the notes.

Today’s meeting was similar to the one I called in to, but with a different context, though the two are intrinsically connected because of a massive blockage in the Fraser River; we hit many roadblocks because of mixed priorities tied together with the unknown coming impacts of an as yet unresolved problem.

And now I’m exhausted and heading back home, but taking the opportunity to finish a book on the short plane ride.

I have promised myself that I will read more for pleasure this year, and I’m trying. Once upon a time I probably read a novel every week, at least. Now I am hopeful that I can read a novel at least once a month. It’s a start.

I can remember a time when almost every passenger on a plane had a book or a newspaper or a magazine in their hands. Now the majority stare into their smart devices and watch videos or play games. The readers seem to be a novelty.

I’ll take the temporary isolation and lack of distractions on an airplane to read every time. It was a feeling of accomplishment to read the last paragraph as the plane rolled up to the arrival gate.

(23/365)

I'd love to hear from you :)