Flying Home

It’s 4am, I’ve already been traveling for 4 hours, and I’m all jacked up on caffeine. If my writing gets weird, I warned you. This coffee is absolute crap, but there’s plenty of it and that’s what matters, right? Buzzz…

Airports in the early hours are weird places.

There’s nothing going on, and yet there are tiny struggles and conflicts and battles taking place in every corner. The mom with the two toddlers trying to navigate with baggage. The girl in sweatpants and wild hair falling asleep on the fast food table. The janitor explaining to two terribly uncomfortable looking women that the bathrooms won’t be open for at least another hour. Everything feels more dramatic at four in the morning. Where you might normally be kind of annoyed at the guy who just dropped his lemonade nearly on your feet, now you wince and help him clean it up and then can’t stop feeling bad for him. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m a jerk once I wake up all the way. Maybe I only empathize when I’m half-asleep.

It’s kind of fun to watch the world slowly come to life. I’m listening to it right now. It’s an audible change. People are starting to show up already and where it was fairly silent when I first got here, now there’s a gentle swell of sound as people stop whispering and start using their morning voices. So many different languages. I know it’s crazy, but aren’t airports the best? I mean, when the airlines aren’t screwing you over. I love the mix of people. I love not knowing where they’re coming from or where they’re going. I love the way most people have a sense of camaderie and shared weariness. This isn’t our favorite part of travel, but we all have to jump through the hoops and checkpoints.

I’m still feeling conflicted about going home.

There have been so many emotions messing with my head over the past two weeks. “Aw, so sad, you can’t live in Europe forever,” Will chided me, making light of it. Yeah, true. I’m a brat. I know it’s been a huge gift and privilege to have been here for a year and I’m so grateful. But it’s not that. I’m having a hard time putting my finger on it. I think I mostly feel like I’ve grown and changed so much over this past year as I’ve really taken hold of my adult independence and run with it. Going back to Kingston in many ways feels like a return to the nest. I have this irrational fear that going back means that I will developmentally go back a year as well. Does that make sense?

Plus, and this is privileged as hell, being on this side of the world has provided me with a bit of a buffer from the current controversies and discomforts of the political situation in North America.

It’s not like I need a “safe space” from it, but diving into that again feels overwhelming. Again, having a hard time putting my finger on the emotion.

Looking forward to being back on Wolfe Island.

Finally, there’s this sense of time running away from me.

Where’s the slow button on this ride? They say it gets crazier from here out. How did this year slip away from me so quickly? I did my best to be there for every moment, but it still feels like it went too fast. And now it’s memories. I’m having a hard time accepting how time works.

Whew! Like I said, lots of emotions… and probably many more to come. Will and I have been long-distance for half a year now and that’s coming to an end. I have two huge family reunions coming up soon. I’ll be meeting a new baby in the family (distant, don’t freak). I haven’t seen my “twin” brother, Fitz, in almost two years.  And did I mention that none of the guys have a clue that I’m on my way right now? Nope. Complete surprise.

I’m going to be whirling over the next few weeks. I’m going to be writing because I’ll need an outlet. Strap in! For now, I have something like 7 hours left before my flight leaves, so I’m going to put together several posts before I fly. I’ve missed this.