![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Limbo: Thoughts In Transit
Jul. 28th, 2003 09:00 am In transit yesterday I wrote some stuff for a future post...I meant to edit it some, but find I have no time and need to get to work. It rambles a bit. I'll work on some better recapping soon.
I swear I had to work hard to avoid a tear-y good bye. Flash back to TBRU when I was getting John’s bags out of my car as he was taking off back to Chicago and the sadness I had at that point. Now flash-forwards to today when I’m the passenger getting my bags out of his car so I can return to Houston. It took a lot to keep me from crying.
It’s funny how you get into an airport, and although you’re physically still in a city, you already feel removed from it. No one here seems to be of a place or even a particular time, we’re all traveling, all in transit. You just seem removed from all of the world.
Chicago has been wonderful, and experience of a lifetime. I know I must return. There’s a feeling of destiny here. I’ll post more about actual events later, and I’ll have to put them down for myself, if for no one else. A strange point of back-story comes to mind. I’ve had a long-standing desire to see Chicago, but never quite worked it out. I even interviewed for a job once that would have placed me in Schaumburg, IL, some eight years ago, but it didn’t work out. Wrigley Field was certainly a destination for me, being a baseball fan and all.
I saw many of the sights I wanted to see. There was still several more I would have liked to explore, but what made the trip was the people. John (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
blithwulf), of course, but also James (moved), who I got to meet last night, Colin (kubshadow), Lloyd (grande), John & Michael (there’s a story to be written) Carl(nytemarewulf), Roger(aadroma), Richie (richie741), Owen (murphy), Matt(vianegativa), Shawn(ombraorsa) and several people off of LiveJournal. Chicago wasn’t lived in a vacuum. I saw others who the city has affected, and got their impressions of it.
The trip challenged expectations, made me examine relationships and lifestyle, made me question things and look on how to improve my life. Nothing immediate, mind you, but the lessons of Chicago, which yes, I’m writing about in vague terms, will linger on awhile.
Insult to injury, the flight’s delayed. The last thing you want is to have to wait longer at an airport. It seems like time is so wasted here. (Hmm, a some-what bearish flight attendant…interesting.) You wish you could have just a few minutes back to spend with people. Just a little while longer in their presence since you know that it will be some time before you can see them again. Why waste these moments here? Certainly getting home would at least be productive.
I know work tomorrow is going to be a huge let-down. Back to responsibility and working to pay the bills. Back to being productive, or not, due to the fact I’ll have a week and a half of e-mails to wade through. There’s no going back though. I can’t stay here. I’m too responsible, I can’t just expect to be somewhere and be taken care of, or something will mysteriously drop in my lap. I must plan, process and decide. If it’s meant to be, that’s the process it will have to go through.
Still, I must go back.
I won’t be able to post this for a bit, and I don’t know if I’ll add to it on the plane…so it will sit on the laptop, but it’s time to board. See you soon folks.
After the flight…
Made a connection with the flight attendant during the flight. He was also from Chicago, living there for about four years in Wrigleyville (read near Boystown). We talked a little about the city. He had moved there a few years earlier from Alabama. I could still hear the southern accent on his voice. I mentioned that I had visited the Wrigleyville area while on the trip, stating how friendly and open it was, confirming my status to him.
The flight was only half- full. I had the back row all to myself, next to the Attendant. I stretched out as much as I could in the seat. For most of the flight, I read. A Home at the End of the World by Michael Cunningham. I fell asleep over Tulsa and re-awoke above Dallas. I kept flashing back to the events of the trip and the friendships I had made. I don’t know exactly why it hit when it did, but for a few moments I was crying. Thankfully I was in the back of the plane, so others didn’t catch it.
Touchdown in Houston and it was hot, the hottest weather I had experienced in over a week. Chicago and Grand Rapids never got over 85 degrees. Here at almost 6 o’clock it was already 92, and the humidity was on.
I think it always takes a few minutes to re-orient yourself once you land. Just that moment to notice that you’ve returned. I called John to assure him that I had gotten home, but I’m sure it wasn’t the most coherent call, especially with some trouble with the cell phone service.
I forgot that my parents were in Dallas tonight, so I still hopped home and did laundry, but I wish I could have gotten a free meal out of them! Still, it would have been nice to discuss with them some of the events of my trip…leaving out this and that for my mother. Perhaps it is good that they aren’t here. I hate having to lie, and again, it was the people who made the trip all worthwhile. It’s horrible not being able to share all of that with them.
I swear I had to work hard to avoid a tear-y good bye. Flash back to TBRU when I was getting John’s bags out of my car as he was taking off back to Chicago and the sadness I had at that point. Now flash-forwards to today when I’m the passenger getting my bags out of his car so I can return to Houston. It took a lot to keep me from crying.
It’s funny how you get into an airport, and although you’re physically still in a city, you already feel removed from it. No one here seems to be of a place or even a particular time, we’re all traveling, all in transit. You just seem removed from all of the world.
Chicago has been wonderful, and experience of a lifetime. I know I must return. There’s a feeling of destiny here. I’ll post more about actual events later, and I’ll have to put them down for myself, if for no one else. A strange point of back-story comes to mind. I’ve had a long-standing desire to see Chicago, but never quite worked it out. I even interviewed for a job once that would have placed me in Schaumburg, IL, some eight years ago, but it didn’t work out. Wrigley Field was certainly a destination for me, being a baseball fan and all.
I saw many of the sights I wanted to see. There was still several more I would have liked to explore, but what made the trip was the people. John (
blithwulf), of course, but also James (moved), who I got to meet last night, Colin (kubshadow), Lloyd (grande), John & Michael (there’s a story to be written) Carl(nytemarewulf), Roger(aadroma), Richie (richie741), Owen (murphy), Matt(vianegativa), Shawn(ombraorsa) and several people off of LiveJournal. Chicago wasn’t lived in a vacuum. I saw others who the city has affected, and got their impressions of it.The trip challenged expectations, made me examine relationships and lifestyle, made me question things and look on how to improve my life. Nothing immediate, mind you, but the lessons of Chicago, which yes, I’m writing about in vague terms, will linger on awhile.
Insult to injury, the flight’s delayed. The last thing you want is to have to wait longer at an airport. It seems like time is so wasted here. (Hmm, a some-what bearish flight attendant…interesting.) You wish you could have just a few minutes back to spend with people. Just a little while longer in their presence since you know that it will be some time before you can see them again. Why waste these moments here? Certainly getting home would at least be productive.
I know work tomorrow is going to be a huge let-down. Back to responsibility and working to pay the bills. Back to being productive, or not, due to the fact I’ll have a week and a half of e-mails to wade through. There’s no going back though. I can’t stay here. I’m too responsible, I can’t just expect to be somewhere and be taken care of, or something will mysteriously drop in my lap. I must plan, process and decide. If it’s meant to be, that’s the process it will have to go through.
Still, I must go back.
I won’t be able to post this for a bit, and I don’t know if I’ll add to it on the plane…so it will sit on the laptop, but it’s time to board. See you soon folks.
After the flight…
Made a connection with the flight attendant during the flight. He was also from Chicago, living there for about four years in Wrigleyville (read near Boystown). We talked a little about the city. He had moved there a few years earlier from Alabama. I could still hear the southern accent on his voice. I mentioned that I had visited the Wrigleyville area while on the trip, stating how friendly and open it was, confirming my status to him.
The flight was only half- full. I had the back row all to myself, next to the Attendant. I stretched out as much as I could in the seat. For most of the flight, I read. A Home at the End of the World by Michael Cunningham. I fell asleep over Tulsa and re-awoke above Dallas. I kept flashing back to the events of the trip and the friendships I had made. I don’t know exactly why it hit when it did, but for a few moments I was crying. Thankfully I was in the back of the plane, so others didn’t catch it.
Touchdown in Houston and it was hot, the hottest weather I had experienced in over a week. Chicago and Grand Rapids never got over 85 degrees. Here at almost 6 o’clock it was already 92, and the humidity was on.
I think it always takes a few minutes to re-orient yourself once you land. Just that moment to notice that you’ve returned. I called John to assure him that I had gotten home, but I’m sure it wasn’t the most coherent call, especially with some trouble with the cell phone service.
I forgot that my parents were in Dallas tonight, so I still hopped home and did laundry, but I wish I could have gotten a free meal out of them! Still, it would have been nice to discuss with them some of the events of my trip…leaving out this and that for my mother. Perhaps it is good that they aren’t here. I hate having to lie, and again, it was the people who made the trip all worthwhile. It’s horrible not being able to share all of that with them.
