Tuesday, July 27, 2010


From the solitary "A" terminal in a remote airport seven men stood staring at seven airplanes. The airplanes were all different in size, shape and color. There was a gigantic airbus that seated hundreds. It dominated the jetway with its blue-and-orange wings. There was a sleek, private jet, with tiny triangular windows and posh interior. An amateur-looking propeller plane with a dirty windshield sat in the shadow of the jet. It was extremely small, the kind that you only take up for short, tourism rides. Just behind the prop was a standard 747 blanketed with neon colors and a gigantic silhouette of a dinosaur with its long neck running the contour of the plane's tail. Next to the pre-historic beast plane was a rough-looking military plane. It had exterior scars that made it look much older than it was. But the enormous engines affixed to the wings gave it an air of rugged confidence. Still yet there was another just beyond the military tank-plane: a small, sea plane with a pointed yellow nose and blue propellers. It rested on its odd, buoyant ski-legs. Last and completely to the right side was a very normal looking express jet. Dark navy blue with eight oval windows.

As the men examined the seven planes a woman approached them and offered them each a free ticket on the plane of their choice. The first man chose the posh, private jet. The second: the military plane. The third took the airbus while the fourth man joined the second on the military plane. The fifth man confidently boarded the neon dinosaur and the sixth chose the sea plane.

The last man stood alone and the woman gently asked, "And you?"

"Well that all depends," the man responded.

"On?" inquired the woman.

"The destination."

"Good question," she said with a nod of confirmation. The woman handed the man a flight schedule indicating where each plane was going.

The narrative we choose to live by ought to be determined by its telos.