Entre la vie

I found myself lost in philosophical musings while soaring above the clouds, buckled into the window seat like a modern-day Plato. The ethereal beauty of the fluffy clouds outside seemed to transport me to another realm, where the “real” world faded into insignificance. As I gazed out at the clouds, my mind wanders to the great philosopher Plato and his theory of forms. I ponder the existence of an ideal cloud that defines all other clouds; a smile crept onto my face, but I was hesitant to reveal my inner musings to the person next to me. When I saw that they were still asleep, I took a deep breath and allowed my thoughts to drift back to the clouds. The sky’s pale pink hue suggests dawn, but I cannot be certain.

I ponder the multitude of people across the “real” world who, like me, are lost in contemplation of the clouds at this very moment. Perhaps they see one at sunset, or a clear blue sky with no clouds, or a stormy gray mass waiting to unleash its joy.

The theory of forms applies not only to clouds but also to our perceptions of the world and ourselves. To each person, I am a different version of myself, shaped by their own experiences and biases and I wonder: is there an ideal version of myself, a single Vie that encompasses all others? But how could I begin to sail the river of my own thoughts and through the perceptions of others? Like a sailor with a compass, I turn back to the clouds, searching for direction. To some, I am deep and philosophical; to others, I am superficial. I am a writer to one, a dancer to another, a nerd, or even a dirty-hippie-commie. Some might perceive me as the scent of roses, while others may liken me to a thorn that inflicts pain. I am reckless and overly protective, too much and too little, never enough. So many versions of me abound, alive in the minds of others, and perhaps even visible to someone peering at me from light-years away. Each perception is different, like the many shapes the clouds can take. I buckle up as the seatbelt sign comes on, lost in the thought of these differing versions of myself.

As the turbulence outside mirrors my thoughts, I struggle to grasp the concept of an ideal version of myself. I’ve always loved turbulence, perhaps because it reminds me of the chaos and unpredictability of life. As if sensing my unease, the sunrays caress my face, and a voice – whether from within or beyond – assures me that the ideal me exists only in the present moment. It tells me to simply be. I smile, feeling a sense of calm wash over me. In this moment, I am the ideal version of myself. The perceptions of others fade away, like the clouds that disappear from view as the plane touches down.