We Don’t All Travel the Same, Products of Sleep Deprivation, the Homeland

There was something inexplicable about the feeling at 38,000 feet this morning. I knew there was something going on in my head from the moment I left the house at 5AM. I knew it last night when I was packing. I knew it when I was considering all the things that had to happen in the next 76 hours. Being the sole controller of destiny, I was able to shed some of the things I consider frivolous or unnecessary for such a trip. Yes, I ran the dishwasher but I didn’t need it emptied. Having all clean dishes was good enough. The washer and dryer were empty. Sure, there are a few baskets yet to put away but I will do that when we are unpacking in a few days. The cat box was clean. The doors were locked. The security system set. The cat has at least enough water for the trip duration, but my crony will come by just to make sure and offer some pettings. Most of the lights are automatic already so that’s an easy one. I’m ready to adventure!

Wait, is my house ready for a formal dinner party? God knows one cannot travel away without leaving the house in Williams-Sonoma levels of readiness. What does all this matter? Because in my adult life I have traveled so little without someone there to tell me how they wanted it done/argue/judge me. This was often accompanied by speaking to me like a child and talking about how silly I packed. At some point they have a conniption fit about the state of the kitchen. They would inevitably get exasperated when they see I can leave town with a basket of clean laundry undistributed. I even had an internet date note that I’d said I was a relatively tidy person which apparently, she did not see and implied I was putting up a sales front. Like, what sort of fake Facebook reality do people really expect? It makes little sense to me what barometer people use to determine the gradient of tidiness or messiness of others. Obviously, it is based solely on their own perceptions and thoughts and not on any real social curve. For an ADHD person I am pretty good. I’m getting better as I get older. But you just can never be enough for some people.

We made the airport in 38 minutes. That is a record on the Blue Route. At the parking lot we already had a reservation. We were in the terminal with 2 hours to spare. We checked our bags and headed upstairs to sacrifice our dignity to the blue-shirted theatrics and metal detectors. The last two times I’ve gone through, they’ve opted not to search me. I am beginning to feel a bit passed off. Am I no longer threatening enough in my cargo shorts and hoodie? Am I losing my sex appeal? You see, the searching of Dan at airport security has been a long and clockwork staple of my airport experience since the mid aughts. And I’m not talking a cursory pat-down. I am talking the GSR swab, the multiple trips through the glass soul camera, and the whole thing punctuated by a dude with latex gloves grabbing me in places only some have dared to venture. I got used to it over time. For guys like me that don’t see a lot of action these days, I guess it’s good to know you still have nerve endings there. Although, I cannot help myself. I eventually have to ask the groper: “you doing anything later?,” “when’s the last time you saw a crisp $100 bill?,” or “ooooooh, do you moisturize?” Other times I go for the affirmative. “You’ve done this before.” “How about you, me, ten minutes, and no excuses behind the scannascreen.” Or my most recent favorite, “you’re moving me into that spectral grey area, handsome.”

I don’t do it to be mean. However, I really do find the whole exercise pointless. Scanning the little girl’s Disney princess bag? Having the octogenarian remove his loafers? Patting down the clearly haggard mother of 4 trying to get the inevitable flightmare out of the way? This does nothing. It’s a jobs program. Go with the air marshal thing and move on. It would save OCEANS of time. But I digress.

Traveling with kids of any age when you are eating on a regimen can be challenging. Kristen the RD has me covered. Based on the macros and guideposts she gave me I can eat decently just about anywhere. I got to the terminal and quickly scored a Muscle Milk and red grapes. Mission accomplished. My target is to be competition-ready by mid-summer. Then the flight boards. On the jetway my kids inevitably point out the warning signs hanging from the ceiling, one of which I repurposed to my house back in 2002. Yes kids, I have a past and I wasn’t always the wisest.

We score pretty decent seats all in a row. Been a minute since I boarded a plane. I slide right into my seat and grab the belt to strap in. Will this thing fight me? The gym and the meal planning are showing results. This seat fits just fine and the belt went on with ease with several inches to spare. Watching all these other folks board made me feel I am doing something right. Parents with bored teens. Cranky adults. Parents with smaller kids who you could tell were clearing their throats to really scream with gusto once the wheels left the runway. My traveler buddies were settled in immediately and doing their thing nary a word for 900 miles.

We pushed off the gate and taxied to the end of the runway. I love that feeling. A pair of GE turbofan heavy jet engines putting out so much thrust you could be blasting off for the moon. The takeoff direction was West today. Wind coming out of the plains. Taking off over a neighborhood. All that thrust is translated into an early and pronounced ascent. The miracles of human innovation. I enjoyed the sensation with my eyes closed.

The act of closing my eyes and just feeling the sensation brought about an effect I hadn’t considered. In my head I was replaying Civil Wars songs as I am zeroing in on my next new original piece and they inspire me. In heading toward my homeland am hurtling towards so much unfinished business. I suppose St Louis will always carry a feeling of being unfinished business for me. But in this case, it’s more about the last trip I took there. The last trip was supposed to be a positive. It was supposed to be a  homecoming and an introduction to some new people. Of course, it didn’t go that way. No amount of money spent; no amount of tap dancing could overshadow my vast and plentiful flaws. I have spent a lot of time in my life worrying about being accepted by people who have and enforce unreasonable standards. In the most recent iteration, I even felt myself changing to meet them. Three and a half years ago I walked away from my beloved birthplace in order to stake out a new life that would take my career where I wanted it. Then this time I had to contend with knowing the ink on my newest set of life plans was conspicuously beginning to run. It’s always back to blueprints.

I had been so sure I had it all figured out [Cue confetti and disappointing clowns]. On that trip I spent a lot of time entertaining out of towners rather than seeing all my friends. My reward was a D grade and a path to expulsion. But I don’t get fired. I left before they had a chance to finish typing up the Dear Dan letter. I may not walk out with an intact psyche or heart, but I am scraping up every scrap of remaining dignity and taking that with me.

And today I am flying back towards the last battlefield. I doubt the Visitor’s Center is finished so I’ll have to make do with a self-guided tour. I cannot wait to squeeze my family. I cannot wait to play the six string in the sun. I cannot wait to see Soulard. I cannot wait to taste anything St Louis. I cannot wait to see my niece take her vows on that stage. God knows those two have put the time in. And the fact her cool dad was able to produce the event is even cooler (this is not a family with unlimited funds). Aiden and I have our suits. Josie is going for a more jacket and bolo look. She makes any event a gay affair.

I already have a new feeling. I am a lucky man. Those that don’t realize it or want to do the conga with me are missing out. We will see the sparkle of the Mississippi. The next sign will be the hit of that STL air in my nose. Then it is on to highways that lack REAL traffic. From there, who knows what will happen when. I just know there will be love. Unconditional love. I’m excited to see you, confluence. Let’s catch up.

On a partially related note, the music writing continues. It’s good to feel the flow again. Sometimes the break builds a better bone.