A friend of mine once wrote that the last day of a journey is always the worst. When I first read that I thought he was being pessimistic. Perhaps the world conspires against us, allowing things to go smoothly throughout, until that last moment when anxiety for an end or new beginning is peaking. I think maybe it is a rule of travel that should you make it to the end without disaster then at the very least that final day must be packed full of minor disasters. Then again, perhaps it's the tulip effect; once something is on your mind you start to notice it more.
Long story short my last day involved lost boarding tickets, unexpected baggage fees, a minor mishap when I failed to realize the jars of honey in my carry on would count as liquids and would force me to check my bag, and an hour delay in my final flight almost causing my ride to leave me at the airport. I watched from the window while we circled to Three Forks and back (30 miles) at least three times. In my mind, I could see the map of where I'd been, how far I'd come to get back home, and those 30 miles were agonizing.
But all was well in the end. Nick laughed at me as I took a running slide across the airport parking lot. I fretted about how cold it would be here but when I got off the plane the cold was refreshing. I've spent the last week visiting friends and family, picking up some of my things I'd left at home, and looking for work. I have no idea where I'm going now. I thought I'd come away from this trip with some goal to pursue, a path to walk. Instead, I see many paths and none feel quite right. I was asked how this trip changed me, and the only response I could think of was to ask me again in a few weeks. I'm sure it has, but I still feel like me.
Anyways, I'm back in town, got my phone back, and trying to find work and figure out where to go from here.
"There is a special sadness at the end of a journey. For it is only when you get to your destination that you discover the road doesn't end here after all." - Two Caravans
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