In a way I miss traveling by air.

Ah, the new digital Thoreaus, proclaiming the new era of offlining, unfollowing and decluttering.  Must be nice to be on a salary.  My internet comes with a volume button.  I turn it down.  The only time I’m ever completely offline and unreachable is when I’m on a plane.  I don’t even buy the wifi on US domestic flights any more.  I don’t watch the films, most of the time.  Trapped in a tin cylinder being thrown across the world at six hundred miles per hour and forty thousand feet up.  Just me and some books and a music player and a notebook and pen, with a view that humans have been enjoying for only one hundred years.  It is a ridiculous privilege.  It is solitary and remote, seven miles away from the earth, and nothing to do but read and think.  The Atlantic Ocean is my Walden Pond.  Which is a deliberately absurd statement that just made me smile when I thought of it when I wrote it down.  It’s not like I made you pay money to read that joke.
I’m on planes next week.  Seven miles up, I’ll be able to clear my head and get my feet back on the ground.

Warren Ellis reminds me why.