I'm back in San Francisco for the briefest of stopovers before flying out again tonight for a long weekend in Southern California. Throughout my trip to our headquarters in the south this week, I found myself thinking about the effect of all this travel on my life.

One thing's for sure - I'm getting better at the ins and outs of it. When I lived in Philly, my roommate Dougal was a bit of a "road-warrior", and I'd be amazed at how he'd casually leave for the airport as late as an hour before the flight. But now I'm taking the same approach.

Take Monday morning, for example. My flight was out of Oakland Airport at the unkind hour of six-thirty in the morning. Yet I felt quite comfortable setting my alarm for four-thirty. Of course, I didn't feel quite that comfortable when the alarm actually went off at four-thirty - I had to force myself to get out of bed immediately in case I fell back asleep again. But half an hour later, I was ensconced in the black-leather luxury of a Lincoln town car speeding over the Bay Bridge.

There was an air of unreality to such an early departure in such a big, quiet car. The lights drifted silently past the window as I slumped sleepily in the back seat. The young latino driver with the sexy neck and close-cropped hair was the model of silent professionalism in his smart suit. The whole setup felt familiar, yet I couldn't immediately place it. Then I realized that it felt like a scene from a movie - one of those independed European art movies in which the camera stares out of a car window at the passing night or the lane-dividers flashing by.

For once, I didn't get an upgrade to 1st Class, so I joined the common folk in economy. At least I got to board early and claim my share of locker space for my two bags. For once, I'd packed just enough for the trip and hadn't even checked a suitcase. I sat back in my seat and watched people stream past. As usual, I received a hefty couple of blows to my shoulder from passing flight-bags.

So many other men with laptop bags. It's that sight more than any other which depresses me when I fly. I never thought I'd end up that way, yet here I am, one of a million other faceless men punching numbers into Microsoft Excel during a flight to Dallas or Chicago.

I don't want it to wear me down. I see so many of these men - they've gotten their business travel down to an artform: they know good restaurants in fifty cities across the States, and they're intimately acquainted with the merits of Avis versus Hertz. But so many of them just sit in their seats through the flight, and after they've punched in their business numbers, have nothing left to occupy their minds except, presumably, thoughts of home. So they read the in-flight magazine, or look blankly into the distance, presumably figuring out how many more miles they need to retain their gold-card frequent-flyer status. I can see how a concern with getting flight upgrades, the best hotels, squeezing in some exercise, can become such a concern that you forget to bring along the other sides of yourself - the side that appreciates the gorgeous sunset. (Flash-forward to my flight home on Wednesday night - you should have seen the few solitary clouds that hoverered on the edge of a flat milky evening sky - they looked like magnificent golden spaceships. But there was the flight attendant to refill my glass of Saint-Supery chardonnay.)

I admit it - I'm being overly dramatic again - guilty as charged. But I don't think I was cut out for this consulting life-style. I was in our headquarters in the south for a short training class, and I sat Tuesday and Wednesday in a room with fifty other consultants. All of a sudden, I'm well past the fiftieth percentile in the age groups. Jeez, will I still be doing this in ten years with grey (or even worse, balding!) hair?

I'm not as depressed or melancholy as this all makes me sound. I had lunch today with someone who's probably reading this and thinking that the tone here is nothing like the way I sounded at lunchtime. But a big part of the reason behind my hiring a career consultant is this vague, unsettling feeling that I'm stuck somewhere I wasn't meant to me. I mean, I love technology, and I've gotten so much fulfilment over the years from applying logic and problem-solving skills in my software jobs. But, I've done that. Problem is, what else can I do? Humph.

(As always, no advice wanted! :)