It’s Balloon Fiesta time in Albuquerque, and once again, the sky is giving people a reason to look up.
There is something wonderful about that. People stop what they are doing. Conversations pause. For a moment, whatever was demanding our attention has to compete with an enormous splash of color floating over the city.
I admire it. The balloons, certainly, but also the people who make it all possible.
The pilots. The ground crews. The vendors getting ready to feed people who have left their beds at an hour when breakfast feels like both a necessity and a reward. Everyone working behind the scenes, carrying equipment, preparing, organizing, and tending to details most of us will never notice.
We see something beautiful in the sky. Beneath it is a great deal of human effort.
I appreciate that. As someone who writes and cooks, I know the finished thing rarely tells the whole story of what it took to make it. People see the plate. They read the essay. They don’t necessarily see the preparation, the mistakes, or the work that happened before there was anything worth sharing.
Those balloons carry some of that invisible work.
And then, usually somewhere in the middle of my admiration, somebody asks:
“Have you gone up in one?”
“No.”
My answer comes quickly. No need to check my calendar.
I respect the people who pilot those balloons. I admire the people who climb into the baskets and trust the pilot, the equipment, and the wind. I understand that, for them, the experience might be peaceful, exhilarating, or something they will remember with joy for the rest of their lives.
I would remember it, too.
Peaceful is probably not the word I would use.
I do not like heights. I don’t even particularly like going into tall buildings. I can appreciate windows perfectly well from several feet away, preferably while seated.
And yes, I fly.
But flying involves prayer, proper medication, and a prolonged conversation between the part of me that knows airplanes can fly and the part of me that would like to know why we couldn’t have driven.
For me, the flight is a fairly constant feeling of terror until we land safely. Other people might settle in and enjoy a movie. I wait for the wheels to touch the Ground so my shoulders can return to their usual place.
So a basket beneath a balloon, moving with the wind?
I wish everybody a beautiful trip.
I will be down here.
There was a time when admitting something like that might have felt a little embarrassing. We hear so much about facing our fears, pushing our limits, and saying yes to experiences that frighten us. Sometimes that advice is useful. Some things are worth doing even when our hands shake.
Sharing a piece of writing that reveals more than we intended. Beginning again after disappointment. Having a conversation we have spent years avoiding.
I have fears I need to work through because something meaningful waits on the other side.
But I have never stood beneath a hot-air balloon and felt that my unfinished life was waiting in its basket.
What I feel is admiration. Curiosity. Pleasure in watching something extraordinary.
And I am comfortable with that.
Getting older has made me more honest about what I enjoy and what I merely feel expected to enjoy. There is a certain relief in appreciating someone else’s experience without needing to have it yourself.
I can listen when they describe the view. I can enjoy their photographs. I can be glad they went and glad they came back with a story to tell.
My own enjoyment begins with both feet on the Ground.
From here, I can watch the colors move across the sky. I can think about the skill it takes to guide those balloons and the trust it takes to ride in them. I can appreciate the crews whose work allows the rest of us to stand around looking amazed.
There is plenty to see from where I am.
And perhaps that is part of what I love about the Fiesta: so many people contributing something different to the same occasion. Some fly. Some help them rise. Some feed the crowd. Some simply look up, grateful that somebody went to all this trouble to put a little wonder into the morning.
I am happy to be among the people looking up.
So if you ask whether I have gone up in one, the answer will still be quick.
No.
But if you want someone to admire the balloons with you, appreciate the people who make them possible, and perhaps find a breakfast burrito afterward, I’m available.
You’ll know where to find me.
On the Ground, having a lovely time.
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