After School Special

This terminal of the Charles de Gaulle airport is shaped sort of like what I imagine Noah's Ark was like. Except two fewer giraffes. Although I did find out what a giraffe is in France, and I like it almost as much as I like giraffes the giraffes. What's that? This post is seemingly random thoughts strung together by an excuse for punctuation? Oh. Right. Lack of sleep is kicking in.

I've been traveling Han Solo for somewhere around 15 hours now. There were trains, there were connections, there were transfers. There was French I did not understand, there were made up hotels that I'm sure translate to "Hotel Shady" directly, and there were bus rides. Angry French people mocked me, some nice French people helped me, and one French person offered me a tiny wheel chair to sleep in at the airport- for which I was grateful.
So. Here I sit. In the Ark. Waiting to board my plane to Detroit in...3 hours. I've decided that there is a whole lot of waiting in the traveling experience. And while I'm not a particularly patient person, I've learned from this adventure that I don't mind waiting in this situation. Waiting means that I am in transit from point A to point B, or now, point T to point U (time passed in the thought process of what comes after U). I like the waiting because it means that I am not crying to a stranger who speaks a different language than me. Crying while waiting on public modes of transportation is mostly okay, crying on the borrowed phone at a hotel who doesn't recognize my confirmation number is harder.
Traveling alone falls in the same category as packing, public speaking, important conversations, and seeing someone for the first time in a long time. General, unadulterated stress. Often requiring medication or tears or, as in this adventure, both. I wish I had come up with an answer last night when Jacob gently asked me what about situations like this make me cry uncontrollably, but I was without explination. It's not like I think I'll never get home. I'm actually 100% certain that I'll get home. Or at least...90% certain.
But even when I've bent further than I thought my breaking point ever was, I would gladly get on the same planes for the same long flights, even the hotel confusion and night at the airport to do this adventure again. I guess that's the thing about fear, no matter how scary it is, most speeches go well, important conversations are ones that are crucial and seeing someone for the first time in a long time is usually not horrible, but a massive relief. Because let's face it, some of these tears are for the anxiety, but most are because I'm leaving this place.
So, here's to being brave. Because maybe that's what I do now. I will cheers you with my Orangina and chocolate French cookies that I have re-named "Tummy Ache Cookies" and we will enjoy my airport breakfast together.