Window or Isle

A quiet reflection at 30,000 feet.

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I’ve always had a love affair with the journey. Not just the destination, not the arrival, but the small customs in between. The click of heels in a terminal. The hush of a lounge just before boarding. The quiet power of knowing you belong in rooms that used to feel out of reach.

Flying became something more than movement, it became meditation.

I used to live just seven minutes from the airport. That meant I could arrive with time to spare, a rare luxury. These days, I’m discovering a new cadence arriving early enough to savor the space: lounges that feel like soft pauses, where I’m not “on,” but simply in between.

And while I’ve always had a preference, window, of course, I’ve started to see the aisle differently.

There’s something quietly powerful about it. It's the seat of the one who doesn't need to watch the world pass by to know she’s moving. She's ready to rise when she pleases, to walk when it's time, unbothered by what’s outside.

Window or aisle, I’ve been both. But more than anything, I’ve become a woman who flies in alignment with herself. A woman who knows the value of silence, the weight of her own presence, and the importance of choosing where she sits, not just on planes, but in life.