Flying Home

There are two ways to fly into Salt Lake City.

The first is to fly North to Idaho and then fly South over the Wasatch Front. All you can see are mountains.

The second way is to come from the South and fly North, following the path of Highway 89. The stewardess had said she thought we were coming in over Idaho, so I was surprised when I saw a big, intrusive "Y" pasted to the side of the mountain.

This way is always a little strange to me because, in a literal and figurative way, you see your past from an aerial view: Brigham Young University, what I assume to be Mount Timpanogos (but I'm not quite sure because I have never been able to see the "woman" on top), the point of the mountain, the eerily well-organized Salt Lake City, the Capital Building, the Great Salt Lake, the oil refinery, the beautiful rose sunset colored by pollution from the oil refinery, the Bountiful Temple. It gives me a chance to reflect about where I was, where I am now, and if I am anywhere near where I expected to be.

It's a bit nostalgic and uncomfortable.