Departure

All day, all week, I got caught off guard by the Travel Jitters. They surprise me; I have made this trip a hundred times, and still before every trip, at the back of my spine climbs a slight unease, a tickle of excitement, a tremble of uncertain control. And while I should have been abating this restlessness by running my errands and planning my packing, my every night lately has been spent in the company of those I love, whiling away the New York Summer Nights in drops of sweat and echoing laughter. I have no regrets.

And then, now, when the packing has, at last, been done, when my clothes are laid out and my alarm is set, though the hour of departure draws near, I am calm. I fear not the unexpected, I am not anxious nor impatient. I am going Home.

I spoke to a dear friend the other day, and before he'd finished saying hello, I knew something had changed. After years of trudging through a sweet but seemingly harmless relationship, he had fallen completely in love. It shone through his eyes, trickled through his voice. He said this is what it's supposed to feel like, and all the clichés danced around our conversation in the most uncomplicated way. They were the matching puzzle pieces, in the other's eyes they saw forever. And then I realized what was different, what I'd seen before he'd even said a word: he was calm. It was as though he had found a safe place to land, and he was no longer chased by whatever demons, outside or in, that normally haunted his shifty eyes and itchy posture.

If you trust the soft landing, you need not fear the fall. Perhaps that is what love is. Perhaps that, is Home.