It's time. The countdown of the months, that have slowly crept into weeks, that before you know it have turned into days, which are now hours. Minutes. Moments. I'm finally going to see him.
The day before a big trip is filled with lots of activity. Part of me goes into auto-pilot trying to stay busy with everything and anything I can get my hands on, so as to avoid the sleepless night ahead of me (this includes cleaning, vacuuming and organizing my shoebox of an apartment, which due to its size takes about 30 minutes). And when I finally slow down, the reality sets in. In time that I can finally measure in hours and minutes, it'll all be happening. I will get to see him, hug him, kiss him and pretend, even if just for ten days, that this is how life always is. That life is always as great as this moment.
As this back and forth travel nears its end (sooner rather than later I do hope), I can realistically reflect on how exhausting these trips are. But to be honest, the 6-10 hours of travel are nothing compared to the emotional jet-lag I often face upon return. These trips, while a great escape, have taken on a whole new meaning over the course of the year. Its less about where we are, what we do, what we see, how many pictures
Truth be told, I travel 3,000 miles and each time I see that face awaiting me in the airport terminal, I've never felt a greater sense of coming home. I could be anywhere...all that matters is I'm home.
"I like to see people reunited, I like to see people run to each other, I like the kissing and the crying, I like the impatience, the stories that the mouth can't tell fast enough, the ears that aren't big enough, the eyes that can't take in all of the change, I like the hugging, the bringing together, the end of missing someone." -Jonathan Safran Foer