The Bags Are Packed.

Correction–the bags are more or less packed. Mostly less, or maybe more, or maybe for the wrong climate, what’s the weather in San Fransisco? Siri, whats the weather in San Fransisco? Siri, what’s my mood going to be? Am I going to be up for adventure? Am I going to sleep well? How will I faire on the plane. Oh god, how will my children faire on the plane? Is faire a word?

Where was I?

So, the bags. Are somewhat packed. Taunting me from a pile in the corner. I will repack then a few more times. The walls of my house echo, it’s not gonna get much cleaner than this. The children are bouncing off these walls—both why I do this and also driving me a little crazy. But here I sit here kind of not believing that this is really going to happen. I know, I know, not a big deal, people travel every day. But not me. This is special despite, it being familiar. Whats most familiar this sense of denial I adapt before a trip. I go through my motions as one would, I check my flight confirmation again and again. Date, City, Seats. Date, City, Seats. This feeling will last until I approach the gate and see the plane with my own two eyes. And even then, this disbelief continues.

So, like, you mean to tell me I just walk up and hand in this slip of paper and pass through the ridiculously hot hallway and into the mouth of this hunk of metal and it’s going to take me across the ocean and land somewhere I only see in pictures? It’s just that easy? I am here now and there later?

And then the plane takes off and I become preoccupied with the potential of my own mortality for five hours as we shoot like a star through darkness, feeling every bump in the air ale very change in barometric pressure. This sign of anxiety and having become a woman in the time of 9/11.

Pilots always sound handsome, especially when they announce our approach and instruct the flight attendants to prepare for landing. So domineering. So hot.

Once those city lights break through the black, is when the denial fades and it becomes totally, utterly, amazingly real. The entire world opens up in my mind as I examine the shape of the city, the stitches of streets, their mundane movements looking like magic from above.

This trip is a little different than those of past years: highly planned, highly anticipated, high priced vacations. It’s a little different than all trips I’ve ever put together. This trip was a quick purchase, a trifecta of excellent airline marketing, a spark of wanderlust and a couple weeks of overtime. It was quite a steal, actually. And although I’ve historically been a major planner with my bullet point travel itinerary and a list of wheretogowhattodowhotoseewhyandhow, this time, I’ve really let all that go. I have no plans. I’m open to anything. This could be good or bad, more or less, but since its not going to work, I’m gonna go with more fun than I can stand. All I know is that it will involve a crimson bridge, some fog, some food, some family and hopefully lots of fun.

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