Lives from the Sky

Hello. In this article, I'll talk about a ritual I have, one that takes place during my flights and another when I'm driving through the Sakar Pass on my way from Muğla city center to the coastal towns. Both are quite different and unexpected.

As I move through the airport, with people rushing around, the echoes of announcements, and the roar of airplane engines, a wave of excitement washes over me. I stuff my wallet, watch, and phone into my bag to get through security quickly. At the gate, I try to read the stories on the tired faces around me. Parents hugging their kids, lovers waving at each other, hurried businesspeople, loud tourists… Each one has a different story. The cosmopolitan atmosphere of airports makes you feel like you're part of a big story. The moment I find my seat and throw my bag into the overhead bin, I feel like the happiest person. That, I guess, is a pretty common feeling. As I sit down, I start wondering what new thoughts will cross my mind as I stare out the window.

As the plane takes off, slowly blending into the clouds, the cityscape gives way to the endless blue of the sky. At that moment of takeoff, I start to feel how small and insignificant everything seems. As we climb higher, the world turns into a painting; each building, each street looks like a brushstroke.

You know how, during the first and last few minutes of a flight, you look down on houses from above? In this part of the article, I'll talk about my feelings at that moment. I experience things in those few minutes that can't be contained in such a short time. Every time, when we approach the city and begin to descend or as we rise into the sky, I look out the window and watch the city below. Each building, many apartments, seem like just piles of concrete, but they actually represent dozens of people, dozens of lives. For some reason, only houses come to mind; student dorms and hotels where I spent five years during university don't. Strange.

Every building, many apartments, dozens of people. Every time, I imagine the stories inside those homes. Some are happily watching TV, some are eating, some are arguing, some students are studying… It's like a movie scene; if we could roam through homes without walls, imagine the stories, even novels that could come out.

Human life is like that, right? Everyone's life, circumstances, and struggles are different. There are those happily watching a series, those coming home exhausted and falling asleep; someone rushing to cook a meal, panicking because their order is late, trying to put their baby to sleep, helping their child with homework, attending online classes, watching a match, getting lost in the depths of YouTube… Thousands, millions of people of all ages, types, races, beliefs, and thoughts.

Life exists. In each of those homes, a different life. And there I am, sitting in my window seat, unable to stop thinking about the lives that come to my mind one by one. In one house, a little child is making cookies in the kitchen with their mom. The child's eyes are filled with excitement, and the mom has a loving smile on her face. In another apartment in the same building, a young woman is working at her computer. She's tired but determined. She knows how important her work is for her future.

A little further away, in another building, an elderly couple sits on their couch, quietly holding hands while watching TV. In the autumn of their lives, they find peace in sharing the memories of the years they've spent together. Just below them, a newly married couple enjoys cooking together in the kitchen. They're excited about setting up their first home and their first table.

In another building, a young man is playing games on his computer. At that moment, he's only in the world of the game, away from the troubles of the real world. One floor below, a middle-aged woman is bathing her child, who slips out of her hands while wet, soaking the entire house. In another apartment, a middle-aged man living alone is engrossed in philosophy, reading Plato's Republic and taking notes.

In another home, a father who worked through the night is preparing breakfast for his family with tired eyes. His wife is dressing their children at the table, while the smell of coffee fills the entire house. In the house next door, a young man is getting ready to go to the gym. On the same street, an elderly woman, who has lived in her house for years, is looking out the window. She remembers the days when children played on the street, her youth, her neighbors…

While gliding through the sky, knowing that there is a different world behind every window reminds me how diverse life can be. Every time I fly, this realization hits me, and I feel a deep sense of gratitude. As the plane slows down, the cityscape becomes clearer. On the roof of a building, a young couple is chatting under the stars. Future plans, hopes, dreams… In the window of the building next door, I see a young girl playing the violin. Her melodies rise toward the sky, almost welcoming me.

As I think about these things, the plane's wheels touch the runway, and I suddenly return to the real world. But in those few minutes, I become part of hundreds of lives. Each person lives their own story… And for a short time, I become a guest in their worlds. Looking from the sky, I realize once again how complex and at the same time how beautiful life is. In each home, a different story, in each story, a different emotion is hidden. This is why plane journeys have always been special to me. The feelings I experience in those few minutes may be more real than life itself.

If I experience this, I can't even imagine what astronauts feel during the "Overview Effect." When astronauts see Earth from space, they go through a deep emotional and cognitive shift called the "Overview Effect." This effect emerges as they realize the fragility of our planet and the interconnectedness of humanity. The experience of not seeing Earth's boundaries and understanding our place in the universe has profoundly influenced the worldview and philosophy of many astronauts. I've bought a few books to learn more about this and the emotions of astronauts, but I haven't gotten to them yet. I'll write about that too.

Turkey, Mugla Sakar Pass

Rahşan Gülşan, whom I know from Nevşin Mengü's YouTube broadcasts, summed it up perfectly:"This is the Sakar Pass that connects Gökova to Muğla. It takes guts to drive up or down! On the way down, the sudden view of the sea marks the start of your vacation. On the way up, it means your vacation is behind you. As a car enthusiast, I love driving up and down this pass. Capturing it with a drone was a special part of this trip…"

She also took a great drone photo of the place. She didn't leave much to add. But in case the number and sharpness of the curves aren't clear enough, I've added a Google Maps screenshot below.

As you can see, the curves are numerous and sharp. Over the years, many people have tragically lost their lives here. May they rest in peace. The problem isn't just the curves; the upper part of the map is quite high. The elevation at the beginning of the pass is 670 meters, and after 9 kilometers, it drops to around 42 meters in Gökova. It's a steep and dangerous descent.

My mom is from Denizli, and because many of our relatives live there, I spent every summer in Denizli throughout my university years and even into my working life. For a few weeks, we'd also visit my great aunt in Ortaca, a district of Muğla. This is what I've gained from passing through the Sakar Pass every year during certain times in my childhood. Open, open, let's listen to the song below together.

Whenever I see the sea from the Sakar Pass, I play this song:

"Cebimde ucu ucuna yetecek bir paraaa…"

I honestly don't remember when I first started doing this. Two possibilities come to mind:

First: When I was in 6th or 7th grade, I had Walkmans (they were hard to find in Develi and broke easily, so I say "Walkmans"). Kids of the 90s will understand. I bought my first Walkman in Denizli; another one was a gift from my cousin…

Second: I might have come across the song on my sister Elif's MP3 player. The song was already well-known, Ayna was very popular at the time. I probably thought with my child's mind, "I need to listen to this when I see the sea," and I waited for the right moment. The second possibility seems more likely.

Ah, the Sakar Pass and that view of Gökova Bay from such a height… The place where blue meets green, where vacation begins. Most of the time, when you pass through, you let out a big "Oh!" from the depths of your heart.

During my last descent, I couldn't do my ritual; I couldn't listen to my song and dream of vacation. I just replayed a half-finished recording in my head. My mom had surgery, and I stayed with her as a caregiver. (Don't worry, she's fine; thankfully, the surgery went well. It wasn't as difficult as the doctor feared.) I had my headphones, but they were in my bag. Maybe I would have taken them out again - there wasn't any embarrassment since it was just my mom, me, and my brother-in-law in the car - but the bag was in the trunk. That's okay, the pass is still there, after all. We'll pass through it many more times, and I'll listen to that song many more times.

Next time, the breeze on the beach will be waiting, a storm inside me… Wait for me, Sakar, and Ayna!