Soggy Travel
I cry on airplanes. No, it’s not because I’m scared out of my wits of it falling out of the sky. No, it’s not because I’m squeezed in a window seat with two other big slobs next to me who keep falling all over me as they snooze. No, it’s not because I just ordered a snack box for $50 and got a bunch of Oreos. And no, it’s not because I’m usually going to visit family. It’s because airplanes epitomize leaving. Since I don’t take real vacations hardly at all, there is a feeling of life being interrupted for the moment to leave what’s behind and go forward to another place. Another place that’s living and breathing in the moment the way I am right now with all its routines and details and things to do.
As much as I’d like to think I’m adventurous, I’m very much a homebody. I like to know I have an oasis of comfort and safety to come home to with my favorite things surrounding me. So it's hard to leave and feel discombobulated and without security blankets. It's also an ego trip wondering if people will miss you; if your absence will leave a momentary void in their lives or they won’t even notice you’re gone or worse, they breathe a sigh of relief after you go. It’s not so much that I think I’m so important that people can’t live without me. It’s more of a longing to be loved and missed, to know you’re cared about. When I was in a relationship, it would be more like, “Will he stop loving me if I’m not around?” Somehow the old phrase about absence and the heart growing fonder didn’t play well with me. Of course, if someone can’t be without you for a week or two without taking up with someone else, that pretty much is a favor they’re doing you. That never happened though. Unfortunately, I found I couldn’t get rid of them even if I wanted to and keeping distance has nothing to do with miles.
When I’m returning home from the visit or trip, I’m crying because I’m leaving the peace and non-responsibility of the visit to enter the rat race again. It just makes me re-evaluate my whole life and the choices I’ve made and whether I want to continue to go down the same path or even worse if I shouldn’t have made other choices in my life. But like my therapist said once, life isn’t a do-over and so to even ponder what might have been is a fruitless waste of time.
It makes me cry nonetheless. So as I settle in my window seat, chucking my bags underneath the seat in front of me, I pull out my journal and write only to find the ink is getting smudged and running down the page and large teardrops are spilling onto the margins making it difficult to continue writing. So I stop and stare out the window and finally the plane takes off and I stop weeping momentarily to order that snack box because what the hell, a few Oreos, smoked beef and gouda cheese with crackers will certainly make me feel better and these twenty books I’ve bought with me to keep me occupied until I fall sleep. But I keep my hanky out just in case.
As much as I’d like to think I’m adventurous, I’m very much a homebody. I like to know I have an oasis of comfort and safety to come home to with my favorite things surrounding me. So it's hard to leave and feel discombobulated and without security blankets. It's also an ego trip wondering if people will miss you; if your absence will leave a momentary void in their lives or they won’t even notice you’re gone or worse, they breathe a sigh of relief after you go. It’s not so much that I think I’m so important that people can’t live without me. It’s more of a longing to be loved and missed, to know you’re cared about. When I was in a relationship, it would be more like, “Will he stop loving me if I’m not around?” Somehow the old phrase about absence and the heart growing fonder didn’t play well with me. Of course, if someone can’t be without you for a week or two without taking up with someone else, that pretty much is a favor they’re doing you. That never happened though. Unfortunately, I found I couldn’t get rid of them even if I wanted to and keeping distance has nothing to do with miles.
When I’m returning home from the visit or trip, I’m crying because I’m leaving the peace and non-responsibility of the visit to enter the rat race again. It just makes me re-evaluate my whole life and the choices I’ve made and whether I want to continue to go down the same path or even worse if I shouldn’t have made other choices in my life. But like my therapist said once, life isn’t a do-over and so to even ponder what might have been is a fruitless waste of time.
It makes me cry nonetheless. So as I settle in my window seat, chucking my bags underneath the seat in front of me, I pull out my journal and write only to find the ink is getting smudged and running down the page and large teardrops are spilling onto the margins making it difficult to continue writing. So I stop and stare out the window and finally the plane takes off and I stop weeping momentarily to order that snack box because what the hell, a few Oreos, smoked beef and gouda cheese with crackers will certainly make me feel better and these twenty books I’ve bought with me to keep me occupied until I fall sleep. But I keep my hanky out just in case.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home