today was a travel day. our pickup shuttle actually turned out to be a car, which was nice because a) we only had to pick up one other person and b) between the other person and the driver, it was kind of a riot hearing what they had to say. it was like a guided comedy tour.
got to the airport 🙁
got through TSA 🙁
got to our gate 🙁
had a couple EXCELLENT drinks 🙂
boarded the plane 🙁
flew back to land of ice and snow 🙁 (except not yet. it’s only 50º here, so it isn’t TOO bad…but when you prefer 80º, i guess it’s not great)
the HHH terminal was pretty low-key when we flew in, definitely low-key compared to LAX. by the time we got to our baggage claim, our luggage was already on the conveyer and was one of 5 left to pick up. hitched a ride on the shuttle to our parked car and felt like i had miles and miles of space in our traffic lanes. unbelievable.
and the closer i got to home, the more relaxed and happy i felt. i had FUN in CA. i would love to go there again, and i probably will. i love to go places and to travel, but i think i love coming home even more.
i leave you with this michael perry quote, quite possibly my favorite from him:
I am happy here, but my gravitation to place has always been balanced by my need to move. I crave a contrapuntal mix of shiftlessness and stability. In bed at night, I can hear the trucks out on the highway. Sometimes a driver drifts across the white line, and when the tires hit the rumble strip, the rubbery howl makes me want to drive away in the night, fills me with the urge to go west, makes me think the finest sort of freedom is found at sunrise in a South Dakota rest stop. Contentment, it turns out, can be a matter of global positioning.
…to this day my two favorite things in the world are solitude and motion. I’ve found them in the next county, in a semi crossing the Nevada state line, on a Hungarian train, and on a bus approaching the Guatemalan border. In times of trouble, motion is my morphine. But as much as I love to run, I love even more to come home. At every latitude, my compass swivels to point back here, to little old New Auburn. This place is my true north. A stray dog running, as it turns out, is just circling the rug.