From 10,000 feet up (the approximate cruising altitude of an airplane), the world is perfect. So perfect that the only word that could perfectly describe it is perfect.
From 10,000 feet up, you see the world as a blemish free grid of that is varying shades of green. The world is like a piece of graph paper colored with all the green crayons from the legendary 64 pack. Upon your first encounter with a person, you are viewing them from 10,000 feet up.
As your plane begins its descent, the imperfections come into view. You start to see the twists and turns in the roads that formed the lines of the once-perfect grid. The winding rivers and rifts tearing across the fields of green disprove your former perfectly perfect perception of them. Towns pockmark the countryside, and cities starkly contrast the lush greenness seen from above.
However, among all of these imperfections your descent reveals to you the first glimpse of humanity that the world contains. Cars glide silently along the back roads of the countryside, buzz through the twists and turns of suburbia and cruise down Eisenhower's pride and joy. Individual houses that contain any number of individual lives existing in harmony can be distinguished. As one nears another person--just as an airplane descends from great heights--they see the physical and metaphorical blemishes that makes up a person; however, these very same blemishes show the humanity in this person.
It isn't until you reach ground level that you are truly a part of this great humanity that perhaps either entranced or disgusted you when seen from 10,000 feet up; one does not see another person without preconceived notions until you reach ground level with them. You are no longer merely observing and judging from afar. Everything that happens you are a part of. You get to share in rejoicing all of the good that happens; you play a role in mourning the tragedies.
Now, when someone else is viewing the world from a cruising altitude of 10,000 feet, you are a part of what they observe. At first, you aren't even a blip on the radar of those flying above, but nonetheless, you are still a living, breathing entity of the world. As these observers approach perhaps they see you. Perhaps you are one of the first glimpses of humanity they sense. As you once observed the world, they can only see what is present at face value. As you know, they only see what is easily noticeable from a distance. Finally, these once-observers are a part of humanity--a part of you. A part of your joys. A part of your mourning.
Remember that what you view from 10,000 feet up is never the whole picture.
