I put down Cheryl Strayed's debut novel Torch for a moment to indulge some existential wandering my mind was tugging at me to explore, and pondered for a bit the state of being and the oddity of physical existence.  Somehow (inexplicably?), the following was the result.

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The idea of flying was always so fascinating to Jonathan.  He felt so grounded in Virginia, so physically connected to the earth and the soil.  Michigan seemed like a place that existed only in his mind.  Like a collection of sensory-rich memories that were no more tangible than an email.  And yet he knew that he would be there tonight.  That he would drive seven miles to the airport, walk a couple hundred yards to his gate, step onto a plane, and not two hours later step off onto the soil of an entirely different place.  He knew when he landed that the realness of Michigan would descend upon him like a rush of cold water.  He knew too that the more immersed he became in the sights and sounds of Michigan the further Virginia would slip from his immediate consciousness until it was no more real to him than a place he had imagined once but never visited.  A place born entirely of his fancy.  Reality is fickle, he thought, as he made his way to his father's waiting car.

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