I find myself currently torn behind trying out "new things" and avoiding anything new. Days like today, with rain quietly splattering outside my wind and cars running along wet pavement, I feel like I could stay in my room forever. Never call any friends, never go downtown, never do anything. But other days, I feel a desire to stretch myself out to do new things, experience new horizons. It was one of those outward bound moments that found me heading to Gunma. The prefecture of Gunma is only a little over an hour train ride from my part of Tokyo, and I passed the time with a friend (who might want to be left unnamed because of their fear to take part in the events of the day), talking in slowly rolling trains is a simple pleasure of mine. We get to Gunma, and the reality of it hits me. I had browsed a Wikipedia page on the origin of gliding in the olympics, and I had got interested in it a bit. A plane without an engine is tugged up into the air by another plane (with an engine) and then let go. The engineless plane is left to glide slowly in circles, with nothing but the sail-like wings supporting it. The day was beautiful, little yellow flowers poking out of the grass in green fields next to rural backroads. We get up to the field where the glider hobbyists are assembled in a circle. They all seem so intent on their hobby, and I felt like an outsider. The leader asks me to introduce myself and I get a little uncharacteristically short of words, stammer something about why I was there. The different characters waiting for a ride in the gliders are all chatty and unique. An older woman who owned a hang glider company; she defined her hang gliding service as local trains and gliders as bullet trains. In other words, this was the deluxe way to get up into the clouds. A female high school student from 5 hours away (there aren't many glider clubs in Japan apparently) who had met one of the pilots while on vacation by herself overseas. Suddenly a grisly old pilot called me over to his glider, and told me we were going up. He strapped me into a parachute, told me not to press the canopy eject button, and we were off. An old airplane pulling us up, up, up in to the air. It felt unreal, buoyant, and a bit euphoric. As we got higher up, and the rural rice fields began to blend together, I could see other gliders circling on the thermal vents. One came literally feet from our wings, and my pilot swore. But I wasn't even upset by the close call, I was already hurtling to the sky pulled behind another airplane by nothing but a thin rope. And then the rope was gone, disconnected, we were hanging on nothing but the wind. The air whistled past and the pilot banked in loops, pointing the shiny wing down towards the ground. The ground twirled around us, the blue sky danced along with it. It is hard to explain what it felt like, but I suppose if I had been born a dolphin it would have felt the same to swim in a beautiful ocean. And then we were landing again. Back on the ground, leaving me to search for words to explain those quick 20 minutes in the air.
