After eight days and 1,300 miles driven, it was time for my husband and me to fly back to Pennsylvania. As is usually the case, I was not ready. Other than missing Piper and anxious to see him, I was quite content to stay for awhile longer. But I remind myself every time that there cannot be arrivals without departures. (Click here for Departing Is Such Sweet Sorrow.)
We had saved Mister Rain’s maiden voyage to In-N-Out Burger for our last night in Los Angeles. His review: he didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. It was, in his words, “just okay.”
Arriving at our gate at LAX the next morning, he went to get us coffee. I took a deep breath to decompress after the logistics of navigating a busy airport with little sight. The area was full of passengers, my husband didn’t even have a place to sit at first when he returned with our drinks.
I noticed what looked like a group of seated people leaning against each other. As inconspicuously as I could, I took a photo; enlarging it on my iPhone would enable me to see what I couldn’t with my eyes. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones who had had a very busy trip.
Travel is a privilege, one I do not take for granted. Sure, the prep, the undo after getting back home, as well as the constant on-the-go while gone, is exhausting. If that is the price I have to pay, Travel, do you take VENMO?
Boarded and belted on the aircraft, as the engines roared to life, I looked out the window. I really can’t see very much when I do that, but I know what’s out there. I didn’t want to say goodbye.
A moment later, I was in the launch position as the plane lost physical contact with the great state of California, as did I along with it. As we banked to turn towards the east, I took a few photos of the sandy coast below, the distinctive blues of the Pacific Ocean and the sky, the one color I can see.
Thank you, California. You gave me everything you had and I did the same in return. I hope that maybe, in some small way, I wore you out, too.
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