It’s a strangely familiar feeling. Packing suitcases, rolling up socks into shoes, putting shampoo in zip lock bags, driving to the airport and watching the clock tick down to boarding time. After check-in, the stress plateaus and you coast through coffee or beer, that 45 minutes feeling for once like it could be hours. As the countdown reaches the last five minutes, you know what’s coming and start feeling itchy and restless. The desire to get the worst over with, coupled with the conflicting worry of being late for boarding and the wish to squeeze the most out of the few seconds left makes the stress climb again.
You pay the check, buy a book, walk to the gate and commence drawing out the final goodbye until you realize that if you don’t leave right then you’ll find yourself becoming one of those people at the airport that you swore you’d never be. One last kiss, a whispered goodbye, you say you won’t lookback but you both do, wave and then keep on going.
It’s all very familiar except, he’s the one going through the gate and getting on a plane and you’re the one driving home, driving home to Munich.
Who would have thought we’d end up swapping countries?
I’ve got a few more of these days left in me and then I’m putting my foot down and insisting that we pick one continent and one country to share. I’m sure we can manage it.