I woke up as the plane touched down in Houston, piercing through the thick layer of fog blanketing the runway. This is really happening, I reminded myself, struggling to keep my eyes open.
For weeks before I left, people kept asking me if I was excited or nervous, but the truth of the matter is that I didn’t really think about it enough to be too much of either. Instead I tried to indulge in lots of American cooking, TV shows, hot showers, and – most importantly – lots of time with friends and family. As my final days at home flew by, however, I couldn’t fight the sneaky suspicion that I was about to embark on something pretty huge – or at least wildly different than what I’m used to.
While the plane took its sweet time taxiing to the gate, I thought of random moments that made me realize just how far away from home I was going. There was my buddy Brian’s defiant turnaround halfway down the parkway to make it up to my party for one last good time together. A couple other close friends hugged me and risked breaking every man law by looking me in the eye and saying they loved me. I thought of Julie’s teary eyed goodbye and why those tears are a sign of something special.
And as I got off the plane to make the next leg of my long journey south, I thought of my great grandmother’s parting words. “Well whatever it is you’re looking for down there, I hope you find it.” Over-tired, jet lagged, and probably still hungover I thought, I hope so too, Grams.
No comments:
Post a Comment