The plane ride from LA to the Bay is an insanely underrated journey.
From the moment of takeoff, your sense of scale dissolves as you ascend into a world of observation. Buildings shrink, cars become tiny specks, and the sprawling cityscape we call home transforms into dazzling miniature models.
Almost immediately, you're greeted by breathtaking views of Malibu's beaches and the rugged Santa Monica mountain ranges. The greenery stretches endlessly, an emerald sea rolling toward the horizon, as if nature itself refuses to stop.
About halfway through the one-hour ride, the scenery changes. The vast, untouched lands of the central California coast come into view. Big Sur, Ragged Point, and San Simeon (some of my favorite places in the state) lie just beyond the mountain ranges. The word “just” feels ironic here. These off-grid lands are immense, wild, and seemingly unending.
Then, the familiar announcement comes over the intercom: “Ladies and gentlemen, we'll be landing shortly. Please fasten your seatbelts and make sure your windows are open.”
By this point, you're entering Northern California. On the horizon, a distinct crescent-shaped cape appears. If you know your California geography, you'll immediately recognize it as Monterey Bay. Your eyes trace the shoreline, following its long, narrow beaches until the plane veers inland toward the heart of San Jose.
As the plane descends, the world below sharpens. Dots transform into cars, and anonymous rooftops suddenly reveal familiar signs like “Target” and “Costco.” The awe of scale begins to merge with the details of daily life. Yet when you look further, you see an endless network of streets and blocks, stretching as far as the eye can see. From this height, humanity resembles those massive termite mounds in Africa. Impossibly intricate.
And then it hits me, how insane we are as a species. The human race, capable of building all of this. Capable of creating the technology that powers all the building I'm flying across. Of walking this land, exploring it by foot, then deciding to connect it all with highways and power lines. Of making computer chips with nanometer precision. Of being able to split atoms. Of crafting a metal hunk like this plane to carry us across the sky at 500 miles per hour.
Before I can ponder further, the familiar landmarks of San Jose appear. The runway grows larger, and then - THUNK - we've landed. Reality rushes back in.
I glance across the aisle to see the passenger next to me, focused intently on a game of Solitaire on her iPad. Maybe this is a frequent commute for her.
It's funny how quickly we let the extraordinary become routine. A flight like this, so full of beauty, scale, and awe, gets folded neatly into the rhythms of daily life. Just another item on the itinerary. But maybe that's the magic of these short journeys. They remind us that even in the most mundane routines, there's a chance to look out the window and see the world differently.
(tldr; pick the left seat on the plane when flying from LA to the Bay Area. The view is better. 😆)