On the Plane

Two hours until I reach Milano. I have probably asked myself a hundred times what it would feel like to be sitting on this plane, so close to the dream I have lived in my imagination for years.

So, what is it that I am feeling? Is it pure euphoria, butterflies in the stomach, nostalgia, regret? Maybe. To be honest, I'm not feeling anything out of the ordinary. I guess that's something the mind's eye never focused on: the minute-by-minute of the voyage there. In my attempt to look for something meaningful and contemplative, I've landed squarely on the mundane.

My feet are cold, the airplane food was par for the course, and my butt is sore from sitting for so long. I have a kid kicking the back of my seat in his sleep, the movie was a waste of time (21, C+, despite Kevin Spacey), and I'm dog tired.

But then, as I'm fiddling with this undersized keyboard (that all of a sudden can't scroll left or right, sweet), I glance to my left and notice a crack of light along the airplane window.

I open it, and in floods the most amazing sunrise, blaring red just above the horizon, with all shades of oranges and pinks. The light bounces off the wing of the plane, imprinting little sun spots on my eye, and as I readjust my eyesight to this little cell phone screen, I smile to myself and think, "this is why you came." Nobody said everything would be magical from the first minute, and if it were, I think I would go into sensory overload when I actually start this walk.

And don't misunderstand me, either. I know that the mundane will infiltrate every little detail of this trip: that's why I bought blister pads, right?

Okay, time for me to grab one last bit of shut-eye before what I know will be a hectic first day. Good morning, Italia.