Last night, as I boarded a flight to JFK at approximately 12:05 am, I thought to myself: “Red eye flights suck!”
Less than an hour later, while riding on said plane and looking at the stars from above the clouds, I thought to myself: “Red eye flights are awesome!” Because cities are pretty lit from above, and when you fly over cities rimmed by water, you feel like you’re going over the edge of the world.
When I disembarked a few hours later in JFK after sleeping for approximately three hours with my head propped on a tray table, and found myself tugging a carry-on full of shoes to the farthest corner of terminal A where the only diet coke in sight was at Wendy’s – $3 for a small1 – I thought to myself, “Traveling sucks!”
An hour later, as our plane dipped over the cape and circled the Boston skyline, I thought to myself, “I don’t ever want to stop traveling! Traveling is awesome!”
After touching down in Boston, as I tried to creatively maneuver two giant overweight suitcases and two overstuffed carry-ons2 from the baggage claim to the taxi stop, I thought to myself, “*explatives deleted* Please somebody just kill me3!”
Then, about twenty minutes later, as I rode in a cab across town with both the cab driver and I trying to navigate unfamiliar streets, I kept waiting for the panic to set in. The panic that accompanies new life beginning.
But it didn’t.
I spent the weeks leading up to my Chicago move in a state of extraordinary calm, then suffered a near debilitating panic attack at 30,000 feet, aka on the plane to Chicago. Boston was exactly the reverse. I have been thinking and sweating and panicking about this move pretty much since I left Chi-town, yet last night/this morning, as I settled into the medieval torture device known as the airline seat and squished my elbows together, I was extraordinarily calm. Perhaps it was the delirium of hunger and exhaustion4, but either way, I was alright. I was not panicking. And I’m still not panicking.
I am still alright. Even though my new bedroom5 is hanging in that frustrating stage of half occupation and half-unpacked, and I still have no soap or groceries and oh my hell I have not eaten since yesterday I think my stomach is starting to consume itself.
Lexington – which is the suburb of Boston in which I am living – is incredible. I feel like I am living half in the Revolutionary War and half in an episode of Murder, She Wrote, except with less crime and no Angela Landsbury. The streets are tree-lined and picturesque, and there is a monument in the center of town marking the start of the Revolutionary War, and a trail tracing Paul Revere’s ride. Lexington is isolated and remote, but just a short jaunt on the train to Boston. Which is where I will be heading Wednesday6.
So far, Boston and I are doing just fine.
- Worth it.
- Including the aforementioned bag o’ shoes
- It might have been the most hilarious and profanity-laced display to ever hit the baggage claim of Logan International.
- At this moment, I am running on 3 ½ hours of sleep, and have not eaten since a slice of cake at my premature birthday celebration last night around seven.
- Which only has two outlets, one of which is in the closet. This is not going to work.
- Tomorrow I am sleeping. All day. Tuesday I am job hunting in Lexington. Wednesday – Boston time!