Final Drops

Plans are being solidified and moves are being made. My departure date to the west coast is set on January 2nd. Around this time last year, wild dreams of moving to the west coast were played in my head. Then at the end of August, with my girlfriend moving out there, these dreams became more of a possibility but still remained somewhat out of reach. Now, after two trips out to California and several months stationed at my parent’s house, contemplating my life ahead, I have opted to make a final decision to move out there.

With that, the time between now and my departure date dwindles to less than a month. I am reaching out to west-coast contacts, straightening-out my finances, carrying out precautionary steps, and building up my excitement. Last June, I journeyed out to Colorado selling shirts at festivals. It was a project and business opportunity, which I was excited about. That bolt of excitement has returned, but I’m heading even farther west this time.

I was looking down at the bottom-floor gym equipment from the balcony in the YMCA. I remember when I was 15 years-old, I would bike over to the YMCA to workout. Then, I left for college for a few years, but it was only three hours away from home. Then after graduation, I readjusted back into my position of living at home again. With this move now, these final weeks may be my last stint living in my hometown. This phase in my life is coming to an end. With that, I will appreciate the last few drops and look forward to the vast ocean I’m about to dip into.

The Window Seat

The line to board the plane stretched to the adjacent waiting section. I rambled up to the back of the line and claimed my position. It was 8:10 a.m. and I had only arrived at the airport a mere twenty minutes ago. I have a tendency to enter the airport with only minutes to spare before takeoff. With that, the somber feeling of departing doesn’t register until I’m seated on the plane, and at that point, I’m already gone.

As a herd, we lifted one foot and moved a step forward sporadically. After being funneled in, we were all on the plane. I find it interesting to observe passengers, especially the high-status citizens in first class, as I inch closer to my seat. Most people, nowadays, glare down at their phones or their computers. Besides the children, they’re bouncing around with excitement.

As the plane flew above the Rocky Mountains, that same feeling of excitement and wonder shared by the children, flooded me. It was breathtaking to observe the peaks from this vantage point, and the mere fact that at this moment, I was thousands of feet in the air. As one grows older, one’s perception of the everyday miracles and wonders of life begins to fade–at least for some people. I am referencing the simple moments, such as spotting a blue jay. The blue jay remains miraculous, but there is a lack of acknowledgment on the viewer’s part.

I remained fixated to the window for a majority of the flight’s duration. Towards the end of the flight, I spotted my hometown, due to the imposing power plants emitting toxins. I had never before experienced my hometown from this vantage point–there’s a reason I reserve the window seat.