Last week I flew to Chicago for my last (most likely) medical school interview. I had the window seat on the plane and, surprisingly, wasn’t sleeping as we approached Chicago. I was excited to spend 24 hours in the city and get a feel for a place I hardly knew. I gazed out the window as we started our decent.
Before we decreased our altitude, we zipped along above the clouds, through a bright blue sky with sparkling sun. A thick layer of clouds was below us. The view of bright blue above white divided by shining sun rays conjured images of every version of “seeing the light” imaginable—end of the tunnel, heaven’s gates, nirvana…to name a few. The clearness and stark lines between the blue and white were beautiful.
Slowly, the plane’s path dipped so that we began to approach the clouds. We must have been far above them because it took us a while before we got close to the wall of white. I knew the clouds were a penetrable, gaseous/small particle entities, but they looked solid and impassable. We approached them quickly, and soon the sunny view of blue was obscured and the windows were masked in white. We were in the middle of the clouds and there was nothing to see.
Our journey continued rapidly and, in no time, we were below the clouds, a snowy and gray scene was visible below us. The sun seemed to have vanished, leaving a stark winter city scene. There were no leaves on the trees and the buildings added to the gray of the air between the land and the clouds. It looked cold and brooding. If I hadn’t just observed the sunny blue above I wouldn’t have known it could exist in the same place as we now were.
I smiled as I stared at the houses and streets, a bird’s eye view of the cityscape. I guess it’s just a matter of knowing where to look to find the sun. I held the vision of sunlight within me as I caught the train from the airport to where I’d spend the night before my interview and school tour. I’d been nervous before starting my trip, but I wasn’t anymore. I felt lucky.