In a holding pattern

I am a plane, gliding through the clouds, in sight of the landing strip but forced by the tower to circle endlessly, to gaze from afar, to pine.

This is limbo, a land that no one wants to inhabit. It is not a scary place, nor is it joyful. It is the waiting lounge of life, a place for drifters.

I am in a situation where I am floating – a man caught between the land of his past and the land of the future. There is lot to love about both, so many memories inhabit the land of the past and there is potential in the future.

This is a time where the mind is constantly conflicted. Which gets the focus? The present is the easy answer – people will say to just enjoy the moment, make the most of time you have left in your current town. This is great advice and, at times, easy to take on board. But the nature of the human brain is that it drifts. Thinking occupies time, dreams of what lays ahead, dreams of what has passed.

I have decided to take this advice on board. I aim to make the most of the month I have left here, to get out and meet new people, catch up with old acquaintances, dine with lifelong friends and soak up the surroundings.

Yes, I may return one day to this fine city, but these times will never be here again. You cannot bottle a moment; it lives on in memory only.

So I am about to knock on the cockpit door, take control of the aircraft; quit the endless circling of the airport and set course back to the present. I still have time to make the most of this month, to create lasting memories and leave without regrets.

Then in a month, I can board the plane and whisk myself away towards the horizon of opportunity. What a trip it promises to be.