Such Great Heights

Over the past few years, I have come to regard long-distance traveling with some measure of dread. Sometimes it's long lines at the airport. Sometimes the online check-in doesn't work, and you end up in seat 77Q, which is so far back in the plane that it is, technically speaking, Baggage Class. Or you get stuck between two overweight businessmen—bookends in bad suits—so that going to the bathroom feels not unlike a deeply disturbing game of Twister. Of course, the seat directly in front of you will be occupied by a mother holding a screaming baby to her shoulder, so that it faces you. Of course, the child will have a raging head cold, so that its face looks like a glazed donut, and will radiate its germs in your general direction for the entire flight.

Once in a while, though, the stars align just right, and life hands you one of those small, wonderful moments that stays with you a for a long time.

For the past few weeks I had been back in the US, working from home and doing some traveling while waiting for my paperwork to churn through the Swedish bureaucracy. On my way across the country from the west coast to visit my family for a few days, I had five-hour layover in Atlanta. The city lies near the western edge of the eastern time zone; the ET/CT line is only about fifty miles away, along the Georgia-Alabama border. What this means is that sunrise here occurs relatively late on a given day. And so it was that after getting off my sleepless (but thankfully bookend-free) red-eye flight, it was still pitch dark outside as I strolled down the terminal, looking for some place to get breakfast. Instead of waiting out my layover in one of the world's busiest airports, I decided to hop a train for downtown and find something to eat there.

As the train rolled on toward downtown, it occured to me that it might be nice to find a place with a clear view of the eastern horizon, so that I could watch the sunrise as I had breakfast. It was still pitch dark outside, so I had plenty of time—I just needed to find a restaurant with a decent view. I asked the woman sitting next to me if she knew any good breakfast nooks at the tops of buildings. "Well, I know the Westin has a restaurant on the top," she said. "It's just two stops further on this line." (Yes, she really did speak in hyperlinks. Remarkable, that woman.)

I found the hotel easily—it's one of the most visible landmarks in the Atlanta skyline, a majestic cylindrical glass-and-steel monolith that towers prominently above the middle of downtown. Perfect. I walked across the deserted lobby to the reception desk, where a lone concierge was sleepily shuffling some papers.

"Excuse me, is there a restaurant at the top of this hotel?"

"Yeah, but it's closed now. It's only open for lunch and dinner."

"Any chance I could just grab a cup of coffee and go sit up there for a little while?"

"No, unfortunately they shut off the elevator when the restaurant's closed."

"Ah. Can you think of any other place around here that serves breakfast at this hour and has a decent view?"

"Nope, sorry, buddy. There's a Denny's across the street, though."

"Oh."

A bit dejected, I walked over to the little Starbucks cart for a cup of coffee and a scone. As I stood there waiting for the coffee to brew, I started thinking: maybe the top floor has a lounge between the elevators where I could see out the window. I should be able to at least get up there, right?

Then, in rapid succession:

Cool, the regular elevator does go up to the top floor.

Crap—no lounge. Looks like the rooms completely take up the outside of the building, with the elevators in the middle. There aren't any windows in this hallway at all.

Maybe I'll just walk all the way around the circle to check.

Wait, this doesn't look like the elevator I took up here... oh, of course, it's the service elevator.

For the restaurant.

Could I get arrested for going up there? I'd sure hate to miss my flight and have to make bail and all.

Ah, screw it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. After all, I "need" to find a bathroom, and I bet that's where I'll find the nearest one.

Sadly, I had packed my camera phone in my checked luggage—why would I need it here?—so I had no way of taking pictures. Instead, I just sat there quietly at the floor-to-ceiling window, with the entire two-story restaurant all to myself, trying to drink it all in: The bluing sky in the east, slowly giving way to a brilliant fire of reds and yellows. The parallel ribbons of traffic, glowing red and white, on the freeways stretching out toward the horizon. The low steady hum of the city below. Early-morning flights, carving graceful golden arcs in the eastern sky, their vapor trails illuminated from below by the rising sun.

I'm a bit frustrated that I can't seem to find the words to convey the serene beauty I saw that morning. It's indescribable, really. I suppose such moments were the source of inspiration for some of my favorite pieces of art. Whatever. I'm just glad I got to see it.

Eventually—reluctantly—I made my way back downstairs, the same way I came, half-expecting to get accosted by some security guard but not particularly worried about it. But my getaway was uneventful. I got off the elevator, crossed the empty lobby again, and stepped out into the morning rush. I must have had a huge beaming smile on my face, because I noticed people looking at me funny as I passed them on the street. I was much too happy to care.

Living in the moment is a hard thing to do, especially when you're at a major junction in your life, worried about your future, or both. But this one time, at least, I think I managed to pull it off.

I even made my plane.