Let's flash all the way back to Friday the 13th. As in a week ago. A long week ago.
I had literally the LONGEST Friday the 13th of my life. I'm talking 30+ hours long. Fortunately for me nothing too unlucky happened. No broken mirrors or spilled salt. And not a single black cat. In fact, it was overall pretty lucky since I got to spend it somewhere that I (unlike many people) actually enjoy--Airports/airplanes. I left at an hour at which humans should not have already awakened and proceeded out to the car under the clear, starry sky. I entertained a sappy thought about the fact that, as beautiful as the sky is in Germany, it'll be the same sky where I'm going. I got through check in and security without a hitch and, right before boarding the shuttle out to the airplane, noticed that my leggings were on backwards, the hassle of correcting it was too great so I decided to endure it through the 14 or so hours of travel which I was about to embark on. As I drove over, boarded the plane, and waited for take-off I couldn't help but think how cool airports are. They are the birthplace innumerable memories of new beginnings. Hellos, goodbyes, and travel buddies. Everyone is meandering or dashing about in the turning point of their lives. Because, even if they're just going back to the humdum droll of everyday life, where they're coming from has (hopefully) changed them. Then you sit in the plane and wait for it to take off and take you on that new adventure. How much more of a physical demonstration of that change could you ask for than to suddenly start driving down the runway, trying to get up to speeds of hundreds of miles per hour in order to get a huge piece of metal to soar through the air the same way that animals with feathers and hollow bones do. And suddenly you're off the ground. It's kind of miraculous. This is usually the point at which I fall asleep. I don't know what it is. A new beginning lulling me to sleep, I guess. But somehow, in spite of my excitement I tend to wake up and wonder when we got so high up that the seatbelt sign turned off. You whip through a sea of fluffy cotton which I have a hard time believing is only condensation. After a few hours of stiff legs you can see towns below again. Everything comes clearly into view and your heartrate picks up again as you approach the new you. Maybe someone is waiting down there. Or maybe you're going to make your way on your own. They both have their perks. But as I touched down back in America on Friday the 13th a "Welcome Home" sign awaited me. Time for a new adventure. With my leggings still on backwards. Bring it, world.
I'm not sayin', I'm just saying.
I had literally the LONGEST Friday the 13th of my life. I'm talking 30+ hours long. Fortunately for me nothing too unlucky happened. No broken mirrors or spilled salt. And not a single black cat. In fact, it was overall pretty lucky since I got to spend it somewhere that I (unlike many people) actually enjoy--Airports/airplanes. I left at an hour at which humans should not have already awakened and proceeded out to the car under the clear, starry sky. I entertained a sappy thought about the fact that, as beautiful as the sky is in Germany, it'll be the same sky where I'm going. I got through check in and security without a hitch and, right before boarding the shuttle out to the airplane, noticed that my leggings were on backwards, the hassle of correcting it was too great so I decided to endure it through the 14 or so hours of travel which I was about to embark on. As I drove over, boarded the plane, and waited for take-off I couldn't help but think how cool airports are. They are the birthplace innumerable memories of new beginnings. Hellos, goodbyes, and travel buddies. Everyone is meandering or dashing about in the turning point of their lives. Because, even if they're just going back to the humdum droll of everyday life, where they're coming from has (hopefully) changed them. Then you sit in the plane and wait for it to take off and take you on that new adventure. How much more of a physical demonstration of that change could you ask for than to suddenly start driving down the runway, trying to get up to speeds of hundreds of miles per hour in order to get a huge piece of metal to soar through the air the same way that animals with feathers and hollow bones do. And suddenly you're off the ground. It's kind of miraculous. This is usually the point at which I fall asleep. I don't know what it is. A new beginning lulling me to sleep, I guess. But somehow, in spite of my excitement I tend to wake up and wonder when we got so high up that the seatbelt sign turned off. You whip through a sea of fluffy cotton which I have a hard time believing is only condensation. After a few hours of stiff legs you can see towns below again. Everything comes clearly into view and your heartrate picks up again as you approach the new you. Maybe someone is waiting down there. Or maybe you're going to make your way on your own. They both have their perks. But as I touched down back in America on Friday the 13th a "Welcome Home" sign awaited me. Time for a new adventure. With my leggings still on backwards. Bring it, world.
I'm not sayin', I'm just saying.
