In four days I’m getting on a plane and there’s a lot to do between now and then. Or at least there should be a lot of things that I do between now and then.
I need a new phone, which hopefully I’ll pick up today on my way into work. I need to pick up a few things at the grocery store so that I don’t starve before Sunday and I have a few Christmas gifts to pick up before I get on the plane as well. I have to find a place to drop my bike off for the week because I know the club across the street will be throwing a party or two that will undoubtedly require me to move my motorcycle while I’m gone and there isn’t anyone I have in my neighborhood that will move it for me. And after the cutting of my fuel line this past weekend, well – I don’t really want to leave it there for that long anyways.
I need to get the clutter associated with an out-of-town guest squared away so that I can come back to a clean apartment, as well as do some laundry so that I’m not jumping on a plane with a bag full of dirty clothes.
I have to make facetime with the shrink one more time tomorrow before work for a year-end wrap up.
And I have to pack of course, but that will be easy.
Really, all I have to do is write this blog, feed myself and show up where I’m supposed to show up and then get on the plane.
In my mind, I’m already gone, off to the cold winter on the East Coast where the lows have been in the twenties the past week. I’m wrapped in my one winter coat, a couple of layers underneath, gloves on, walking to get a tattoo with one of my best friends. I’m bringing back a couple of roasted chickens to the rental my parents are in, breaking open bags of food and eating on paper plates with family and friends. I’m holding new babies and buying drinks for friends I haven’t seen in years.
I’m walking the mall in DC at night, maybe a little snow falling, past the Vietnam wall and the Einstein statue and the Lincoln memorial, the odd feeling of being in ancient Rome or Greece undeniable among the huge, lit up buildings. I’m walking through the National Portrait Gallery with an old friend from San Francisco and her girlfriend who loves art more than almost anything, watching her smile as she skips between rooms.
I’m hugging my mom and dad and sister, waking up in the morning to unwrap presents and slicing up my mother’s pie.
It’s Christmas, and I haven’t had any of these things in years. Just writing about them makes me realize how much I’ve missed them, and how much I’ve let my job interfere with how I should be living my life.
Much as I love what I do, I’m not going to be on my deathbed wishing I’d spent more time in the company of strangers.
I can’t wait to be home, even if it’s not a space I grew up in.
Home is the people you love, and I’m looking forward to visiting.
