I don’t remember where the two men came from. I don’t even really remember what they looked like. But I remember the question.
The three of us were sitting on barstools at a Key West, Florida, watering hole, making our way through a couple of requisite local margaritas and telling tales of flying and adventure. I’d just finished relating the story of my flight across southern Texas a few days earlier. The air had been cool, the sun had been sparkling, and summer had spilled full-volume across the rolling countryside, making every field a landing spot and every winding river an invitation to explore. And somehow, the combination of all that had drawn me so completely into the moment that I’d managed to let go of the idea of getting somewhere long enough to immerse myself in the journey.
