Look out of a plane window during a long flight and the world is ten kilometres below you. Planes do not fly that high to enjoy the view. They do it because the air up there is thin, and thin air is cheap to fly through.
Near the ground, air is thick. A plane pushing through thick air is like a swimmer pushing through water: every metre costs energy. Ten kilometres up, the air is several times thinner. The plane slips through it with much less resistance, so the engines burn far less fuel to keep the same speed. The thin air has a second gift: most clouds, storms, and bumpy weather live below that height, so the ride is smoother too.
There is a limit, of course. Too high, and the air becomes too thin for the wings to hold the plane up, and too thin for the engines to breathe. So airlines aim for the sweet spot, usually between ten and twelve kilometres. High enough to save fuel, low enough to keep flying. That is the quiet calculation happening every time your seatbelt sign turns off.
