I am in the Midwest now. I can tell because the lakes are little shiny pennies on the green surface and the land itself is a mini map of the U.S. cut into squares that look like states.

The ground is green, brown, tan, and divided by roads and highways as thin as pencil lines on paper. The sun is about to set here, so the earth looks long and endless like rows of cornfields, which, knowing Iowa, is probably likely.

From my window seat, I see lines of trees, tiny barns, and ant-sized trucks crawling down freeways. The all look small, but it’s funny, because looking up, I’m just a silver speck with wings.