Seven

Hi, imaginary friends!
Okay, so I am all checked in at YVR. I am so grateful to Kathy and Hamar and their beautiful daughters for taking care of me in Victoria, and to my cuzzies Gary and Melissa for feeding me and giving me a place to nap last night. It does wonders to reduce stress when you don't have to worry about all the little things at the start of your trip. Thanks, guys, and much love.

So, my first flight is from Vancouver to Dallas, which I vaguely remember as being a pretty nice airport? I have about three hours there, then I fly to Miami, which I know nothing about. Once I get to Miami (at 9:35 PM), I get to sit in the goddamn airport until 6:55 AM. This doesn't reflect too well on my ability to book flights, but I assure you, it was unavoidable.

Does anyone know why on earth there are birds in the Vancouver airport? Are they tame? Are they pets? Are they wild? What species are they? Why the hell are they whizzing around by the US departure gates?

So, everything has gone smoothly so far this morning. I caught the Canada Line out to YVR, which was fast and smooth and cheap and awesome. It baffles me how many cities lack convenient public transportation to their airports. Congratulations, Vancouver, this almost sort of does something to mitigate the fact that I secretly hate you.

I am flying with American Airlines, which I've never done before, so I'm reserving judgment until later. I tend to have mixed luck with airlines. Either they are amazing, or they are abhorrent, or somehow both at once. What ever happened to mediocrity? I think Air Canada ranks the lowest (surprise, surprise). Terrible customer service, expensive food, uncomfortable planes, no interest in their customers. I liked Alaska Airlines when we flew to Kauai, but I think I just secretly like red eye flights. My bags did disappear both ways, but I don't think that was their fault. Plus, hey, free mai tais.

But guys? If you ever go to New Zealand for any reason? Fly Air New Zealand, because it was ridiculously good. Everyone was so competent and friendly, and the food was better than I've had in most restaurants (lamb on an airplane, what the hell). Free booze, an amazing selection of artsy movies and great music, everything was just perfect.

I don't have much to say right now, given that I am half asleep and nothing has really happened yet. So I am going to tell you a cute airplane story.

A couple of winters ago, Ian and I decided we would go to New Zealand for a couple of months in the spring. He planned our trip while I was in the midst of final exams and wrapping up my undergraduate degree. Neither of us is particularly romantic, so when Ian found a flight that essentially eliminated Valentine's Day, we decided to go for it! We flew out of Vancouver on February 13, and with the flight time and the time change, we arrived on February 15 in Auckland.

We were quite smug about outmaneuvering the gods of commercialized love, and by the time our flight date rolled around, I'd really forgotten all about the significance of the day. But Ian is a clever creature. He calculated with as much precision as was possible on an international flight the moment when we'd be in a timezone, in the air, where it was technically February 14.

He woke me up out of my awkward, contortionist airplane sleep-mode to tell me he loved me, and the sly thing somehow produced a box of chocolates in mid-air...much to the utter delight of the stewardesses and all the lady passengers sitting around us. (Aww...he loves me!)

Okay, now I realize that my chocolate prospects on this Dallas flight are rather low. Especially because my sweetheart is...where are you today? Still in Haida Gwaii? And I don't think romance is part of American Airlines' service package. But you never know!

My departure is looming. Of course I am nervous. I'll be the first to admit it: when I hauled myself into the skytrain at half past five and pulled away from the last familiar face I'll see for a few weeks, I surveyed my situation - an empty, rattling car filled with weak morning light, and me sleep-deprived and suddenly alone. And I definitely got choked up. (Sorry, mom, I know you don't like to read that.)

There's so much about this trip I can't rationalize. People keep telling me they're proud of me and that I'm brave and good, and I love them for it, but I don't feel worthy of the accolades. I can't really explain how or why I decided to go, because I don't know. It seems like yesterday that I was holed up in my room, curled up in front of my desk, avoiding my Chaucer research and thinking to myself suddenly, "What if I..."

The intervening weeks have flown by, and I'm kind of relieved that I've been too busy to think hard about any of this. I've come to accept that I don't make decisions with my brain. Depending on the situation, I make them with my hands, with my heart, with parts of me I don't even recognize or understand. We'll see if that fact leads me astray here - it never has before. I don't know what the coming days will bring, but I trust that they will challenge me, and I will find goodness in them.

Thanks for everything you've done to help me prepare for this moment, in the small ways I can. I'm going to sign off, call my sweet mama, and get ready to board my flight. I love you guys.

And I secretly love the airport birds, too.

Jess