Heart in the balance.

Flying is a tricky business minus a strong set of wings. The airport is often confusing with unhealthy food and overpriced Dramamine. Once aboard the plane, it's difficult to relax in recycled air. Cramped and uncozy, I suffer from the residual anxiety caused by fear of security detainment and airport floor germs. Inevitably, I find myself white knuckling my documents even after I'm seated and buckled.

And, if the sky's dark and mean or the pilot's a newbie, I don't recommend a veggie sub with extra pickles. A dignified and level head is difficult to maintain inside a sick bag for an hour and a half.

I enjoy the To more than the Fro. To is joy, anticipating adventure, while Fro is dehydration and jaded exhaustion. The first leg of a journey is carefully planned, including cash for parking and chewing gum but the last leg includes suitcases full of wrinkling dirties and a pocket full of receipts.

Herein lies the metaphor for every endeavor attempted beyond one's emotional capacity. Tricky, confusing, recycled and uncozy anxiety. Dark, mean pickles inside a sick bag. Anticipating exhaustion, journey wrinkling and a pocket full of receipts.

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