I was tired.
It had been a long day, made longer by the fact that my night had been spent in the terminal of San Francisco Airport, sleeping. And by sleeping, I mean "fitfully doze in bright area while airport announcements boomed through the near empty place every five minutes."
I had then proceeded to spend the day bouncing through several timezones, and taking off or landing in four different cities -- San Francisco, Cincinnati, Boston, and Halifax. I had spent the day sitting in airports fitfully waiting for the next leg of my journey to stop being postponed, by weather or mechanical problems, and begin. And I was a bit scared too, I suppose. There was a lot to be scared of. It was my first plane trip since the terror of 9/11, and while I knew logically that would not happen, it lived as a boogeyman in the back of my head. It was my first time leaving the country of my birth -- I was only going to the country next door, but it might as well have been Outer Mongolia since I was travelling all the way across the continent for the first time. And most of all I was scared because of him.
I was making this cross-country voyage to see the man of my dreams, whom I'd never met in person before. And I was scared. Scared I wouldn't love him, scared the chemistry would be off, scared that maybe I was reading way too much into a long distance relationship.
Maybe it was a good thing I'd spent the night in SFO. I doubt I would have got much sleep before this trip even if I'd had a proper bed.
Anyway, on the last flight, I had a seat to myself on the flight and spent the entire time staring out the window, a box with a mitzpeh coin sitting in my hands, waiting to be put in my pocket so it could then be handed to the boy waiting for me on the far end, feeling like I was lost and adrift.
And then there was a light out the window. I wasn't entirely sure what it was, because it just was this diffuse glow across the horizon. My brain wondered what was on fire, but as I watched, the moon climbed out of the fogbank over Grand Banks and revealed its full glory. And I remember thinking that maybe everything was going to be alright after all.
The stewardess on that flight gave me another bag of pretzels. I tucked them in my pocket next to the coin.
Customs was a bit of a blur. I remember it was a gorgeously situated room and it was very parklike, which contrasted mightily with the customs in Boston on the way back. But right at that moment, I knew that once I was past this customs agent, that there was nothing holding me back from my worries and my fears about what was going to happen.
What if this didn't work? What if?
So I gathered my bags, handed my clearance to the security guard, and walked out. And there he was. I reached into my pocket, pulled out the pretzels, and handed them to him. "Support world peace. Give Bush pretzels."
He smiled. I knew then that it was going to work.