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I’ve been going to the Museum of Flight kind of a lot lately. The first time I went a few weeks ago I immediately bought a membership because I knew that I had found one of my precious places. When you find a spot that you instantly have a sense of place in or are doing something you connect to for the first time it feels like falling in love. My stomach flipped and my face could barely contain my doofy smile. It’s stunning there and it connects to something deep in me that must have imprinted as a child. My father was a pilot and I can remember a time when I sat on his lap as he was flying the plane. As teenager I would hang out in the cockpit when I was on a trip and one of my Dad’s buddies was the pilot. My childhood hero was Amelia Earhart to the extent that every single essay, project and presentation on someone I admired or the like was always about her. I drew giant maps and tracked her every move, made shoebox dioramas, and read every single book. Silly but my cat to this day is even named after her. So coming to this place after living in Seattle for eight years felt very strongly like finding another home. A home that I can escape to, full of mind blowing creations made by the hands of man, to draw on all these rainy Spring days.