First time home from New York. I was snowed in for the weekend with the rest of the east coast, and had the inevitable tantrum when, on my birthday, my flight and then my rescheduled flight were both canceled.
Then I cowboyed up, which is my new mantra for this twenty-seventh year of my life, and got myself dressed to go shopping in snow covered Manhattan. What a dream. Manhattan at Christmas! The thing I am beginning to learn about this island is that people revel in the struggles that befall the community. They love to greet each other with the latest frustration. "Oh the trains, right?" or "Can you believe this weather?" One quickly feels like she belongs. This is exactly where I am meant to be. At least sometimes I feel that. I feel it way more than I did in Los Angeles anyway.
So homeward bound I was, traveling business class because my mom accidentally booked me fancy for my flight home. Between two very similar chick movies and bottomless wine from Wente wineries, I relaxed through the turbulence and landed in San Francisco.
Most things are right where they are supposed to be right now. Who can ask for more? Well, actually there are a couple things I could ask for...but not now.
And I made it to seventy miles today. I am a little behind. Now to cram the last thirty miles in eight days!