I traveled more miles at eighteen months of age than most people in history traveled in their lifetimes.
My daughter traveled even more miles than that before she turned one.
It’s something we take for granted since people learned how to fly.
The world has shrunk, we’re told. Two hundred years ago, people could travel as fast as a horse could take them. Now we travel at close to the speed of sound—some of us have traveled even faster than that.
And our words travel at close to the speed of light.
We can fly, and our thoughts can fly even faster than we can.
Yet I only know about three or four of the people that live in my apartment complex.
Community is no longer bound by location. We can be friends with people thousands of miles away, and cross paths daily with total strangers.
I’m not sure if that’s better or worse. I know we were created for community. I’m not sure we were created for flight.