If there were a competition for the world’s most asked (and perhaps also most annoying) question, the award might well go to: “What is the meaning of life?” In all its glorious cliché and seeming unanswerability, I once popped that interrogatory succession of six words to a guy on a first date trying to find something to talk about. His response will never leave me: “We’re all just trying to find a way to live.”
How we live is a sure product of the choices we make throughout our lives. As a result of mine, I have spent an inordinate amount of time in airports and planes. In fact, in the last three years since deciding to move to Armenia, I have probably spent more time up in the clouds than touching soil. And, take it from me, it turns out that the sky is a decent place to come up with solutions to even the most perplexing problems.
Some of the best decisions I have ever made were on a plane just as it took off. I have let go of toxic jobs, friends, even a husband, in the moment that an aircraft I was strapped into began flight. The level of conviction with which those particular decisions were taken is unparalleled. And the window seat is particularly inspiring for taking a bird’s eye view on things, seeing the forest for the trees, and remembering not to sweat the small stuff. Like everyone else, I make choices, big and small, all the time. But there is something about a huge metal ship filled with humans about to part ways with the planet which seems to lend more gravitas to any resolution.
Just the physics of getting a plane off the ground are so mind-boggling. Its ability to suspend itself so high up in the air and propel itself forward at such a rapid speed is simply magic. The fact that these machines don’t fall out of the sky (at least most of the time) is a miracle. And with so much marvel and sense of fatality infused in every airborne trip, the seemingly pivotal matters about which I may otherwise be riddled with indecisiveness feel increasingly trivial with every foot I climb into the atmosphere.
With every takeoff-induced epiphany, I shed a carapace that plummets to the tarmac below. Maybe it’s the change in cabin pressure, but something about it just makes it easier to shrug off and wipe clean every annoyance and distraction. The immediate consequence is invariably to fall into a deep slumber, stirred only by the passing cart offering welcome drinks, to which I react by sitting up straight, unfolding my tray table, and requesting a celebratory tiny beverage. The rest of the flight is usually a haze of serenity, rejuvenated enthusiasm, and dreams of a bright future ahead.
Unfortunately, the effect tends to wear off soon after touching back down to Earth, where inner turbulences and external disturbances seem to abound, especially (though not exclusively) in and around Armenia. Almost entirely surrounded by hostile neighbors, still technically at war with Azerbaijan which seems hungry for more, and abandoned by long-time ally Russia, Yerevan is not exactly a landing pad for peace and security at the moment, nor has it been for a while. And for the Armenian people, a state of fear, victimization and anguish inevitably persists. Many see peace in Armenia and for Armenians as being forever elusive, perhaps even undesirable for those driven by the sense that reconciling with our Turkic neighbors would amount to giving up, surrendering, or even treason.
But the plight of Armenians and other similarly put-upon people must involve creating a conducive environment for growth not only by addressing past grievances, but also by fostering peace to enable collective healing. It requires a delicate balance between justice and forgiveness, even allowing for the very idea of eventual reconciliation to hold space, though always with an emphasis on dignity and reciprocity for a shared journey towards a more peaceful future.
Because if there is one thing I’ve learned throughout my UN career working on conflicts around the world, it’s that peace – even if only intermittent – always returns like a boomerang. And when it does finally come knocking back on our door, we have to seize the moment like a welcome guest and make it stay for as long as we possibly can. Only during interwar periods can nations turn into superpowers, and only in times of peace can ordinary people become extraordinary.
If we can achieve consistent stillness, focus and wisdom that can be called upon even in the most trying situations, then we obtain a ferocious capacity to build and grow. Just as a plane needs a clear runway to take off smoothly, personal growth requires a mental runway free from stress and negativity. Just as a plane needs balance and serenity to soar through the skies, embracing tranquility propels us to new heights of self-discovery. Releasing toxicity and finding peace acts as the wind beneath our own wings, providing the necessary lift for a transmuting journey.
Which is why, with every trip, I try to hold on just a little longer to the glow of lifting off and letting go. Like an athlete or Pavlovian dog, I want to train myself to reach a point where all I might need to do is simply jump to reach the same Zen result. And as much as it is undoubtedly easier said than done, I firmly believe that nothing, not even that, is impossible. I’m sure the Wright brothers would agree.
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Listen to Sheila’s personal reading of “Taking Off/Letting Go”.
Sheila Paylan is an international human rights lawyer and former legal advisor to the United Nations. Now based in Yerevan, she regularly consults for a variety of international organizations, NGOs, think tanks, and governments.
