Newark International Airport

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Happy February, babes!

It’s gotten to be a lovely, endurable type of winter weather that allows me to both be cold and hot at the very same time! Incredible!

But a few weeks ago, a college trip took me to sunny Los Angeles for a few days. The weather there was also hot and cold, but mostly hot and vaguely like how one would expect Limbo to be! Awesome! I have to admit, it was nice to finally catch some vitamin D, when I wasn’t stuck in traffic.

Now, if you’re anything like me, the very idea of getting on a plane brings on crippling waves of existential dread. Usually, walking over a bridge is enough to bring tears to my eyes. While beholding any large body of water, I feel insignificant and I can begin to feel my life slipping slowly away from me, like it does to us all. The idea of travel also makes me cry, as does Newark as a concept and a reality. So naturally, when I boarded  a plane at Newark International Airport and did a small turn over the Atlantic, I was bawling in no time. It was a good, hearty cry, filled with both the fear of leaving home and one day growing old, and the simultaneous feeling of youthful inexperience. This cry was the cry of a child and of an old woman. It was during this cry that I realized I am mortal (for the third time that week!) and that millions of people lead full lives and I probably only mean something to ten of those people.

I may look as though I am smiling in the above crying selfie, but I assure you, that is the haunted smile of an adolescent with no earthly roots and nothing motivating her to persevere. The woman behind me, however was incredibly jazzed about taking off and traveling to Los Angeles. Upon looking at the photo after taking it, her broad, happy smile only made my tears flow faster, as I realized that I may never achieve that kind of excitement as an adult.

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