Flying is de rigeur now. Has been. I don't notice so much the outside of the plane--the environment through and over which we're hurtling. No more counting grain elevators until they're flat with the perspective. No more noticing the creeks and rovers like fire as they briefly reflect the sun. No more naming the features down below. Looking out the window, when it happens, is just to watch the flight surfaces trim slowly back and forth. (Until it's speed brake time.)
It's all still there if you want it. The magic or wonder of those first (many) flights isn't really replaced by anything. Flying is now just the simple subtraction of distance. Step in a tube on one side in St. Louis, step out the other side in Shanghai--an ellipsis in between. It's still about sitting back back, maybe a little more relaxing, but a little less enjoying the flight.