I finished out my week on travel with stops in Germany, back to London, dinner and drinks with a few friends, and then a meeting that lasted hours longer than I wanted it to. But the travel and the meeting were extremely productive, so I couldn’t complain. During the week, I’d bumped into an old friend in London, the one who happened to always arrive when I was in a moment of crisis or self-doubt, and that nightcap had been refreshing and welcome.
I think your sirensong is “batshit crazy” I had laughed sheepishly over drinks..
The week had worn on, and by mid-afternoon last Thursday, the pings were coming fast and furious from New York:
When are you leaving?
Soon. On my way to Heathrow.
I was lying. I was still sitting in my office; the clock was ticking — both on making it to my flight on time, and on making it back to New York for the dinner party that was happening in my apartment.
It’s Winesgiving. Get here.
I finally left the office, and there I stood outside my fancy hotel — blue blazer-clad as I always am when I travel — taptaptapping my foot, waiting for a car. After several phone calls; emails; and a tantrum on my part, I was finally airport-bound.
Once safely on my flight, I exchanged a few messages with a friend who was also at Heathrow; who happened to be flying home to the opposite side of the world from where I was headed.
Well. This week was certainly not what I expected.
It had been a long week; a busy ten days. In my life, I’d long come to expect the unexpected, but between all of the chance encounters between Washington and London, I wasn’t sure what to make of anything anymore.
To another friend I said: Who gets this much closure in the span of just a few weeks? Am I dying? Is there something hideously wrong with me that the universe is allowing me to tie up all of these loose ends? Should I get off this plane right now because something awful is about to happen?
Don’t be such a cynic. Maybe you’re just finally ready to move on; get out of the Shitswamp, if you will. Maybe it’s not “The Universe.” Maybe it’s “Meredith.”
That was not something I had previously considered.
Then the doors of the plane closed, and I had to cut my conversations short. We arrived back in New York, delayed, due to weather on the East Coast. I was two hours late for a dinner in my own home.
I landed to a flood of messages.
I wish it were like the marathon so we could track where she is! read one tweet.
I counted down the blocks as I approached. And threw open my front door to my friends, my dog, and a house that smelled like good food. Is there a better way to be greeted after travel?
There is not.
How do you preempt a blink? By having everyone close their eyes, obviously. (Roo had been filling the empty space, but had decided at the last minute to switch spots).