It’s Friday, which means that this week away from the world has come to an end and it’s now time to head back home and see how the world did without me around for a while. But Instead of hitting the road for my trip home, I took to the skies. For the first time since 1997 when I flew to Hilton Head, South Carolina – I was 38,612 feet above Interstate 95 and I flew back home in two hours and eleven minutes at 529 miles per hour.

I love to fly. The first time I was on a plane, I was a month old. Since then, I have longed to fly the friendly skies as often as I could. The anticipation of leaving the ground and watching the clouds above my head fall below me is such as thrill for me. Whether the flight is two hours or twenty minutes – just take me to the airport and put me on a plane.

To me, the most exciting moment of the flight is the very moment before takeoff when the engines start to whirl and the plane gets faster and faster as it gets ready to leave the ground and enter the wild blue yonder. It’s the landing part that I hate the most though, because that means that my cruise above the clouds is over and it could be years before I fly again.

Wow – New York looks so small from up here.