The move, a type of traveling

So it was Sunday, September 16. I packed everything I needed: four t-shirts, five dress shirts, four sweaters, two nice pairs of pants, two pairs of jeans, a few long sleeve shirts, my Tempurpedic pillow, various books, various toiletries, some food things that I knew would be difficult to find in France, and enough underwear and socks to last a month. It was the last night in my home, the last night in West Michigan, the last meal with my family at San Chez, and the last time with the cats.

In fact, the previous week was filled with different 'lasts'. I saw people for the 'last' time. I said goodbye like I was going into deep, dark space. Nope, just France. I had been to France before. I knew what the move would be like. I knew what I had to do, for the most part. Of course, the situation was different between this time and that of three years ago. I had gone away for a semester. It was really quite normal for a Calvin student to do that. People were habituated to having their friends leave for four to five months. Nothing was 'last' about that time. It was have fun, and I'll see you in five months.

What changed? As a recent graduate, I'm expected to go out into the world and prosper. I'm 24 years old, (as of 2007) and almost all of those years spent in Michigan means that the world I'm going into doesn't include this state. Going out this way, to a new country not just a new city or state, sends a message. A message that could be interpreted in several ways. It could, in actuality, be the last time with some things or people.

To reveal my actual feelings about the whole situation could be a little mean. Because in fact I do want to see certain people for the last time, I want to do certain things for the last time. It's almost a question of identity. Am I someone who does this or hangs around with these kind of people? No, I'm going to stop when I'm over there. I won't even have the option over there.

Monday, September 17 was to be the day of departure. Well, I made it halfway.

I got everything loaded up into the Protegé. This was actually to be the last voyage in the car that carried me around during the last 6 years. The flight left at 3 p.m., so I had a few hours to have fun, which meant going to Calvin College and seeing people before leaving. I ran into questions like, "Aren't you supposed to be in France?" and, "Didn't you graduate already?" It was nice. I ran into people that I wouldn't have seen otherwise.

I got going a little late. So, I raced to the Chicago-O'Hare airport. As a Michigander who knows how to drive in Chicago traffic, I got there rather quickly. I parked it on the top of the ramp. It was a very hot day, leaving the air conditioning of my car was difficult. But no, I had to keep going, I had to get these two suitcases and a backpack, combining for a total of 120 lbs off the roof of the parking garage and checked in.

I'll save you the details of this part of the airline mess. Let's just say that when you have a United flight operated by American, don't go to the United desk. What kind of shindig is that anyways?

So, I'm cutting it close. I get through the security check after having removed the screws from my knees. Man, security is tight these days. The next glance at the departures screen says that my plane will be 30 minutes late. OK, that's fine. That will give me one hour in Newark to change planes. So, this part of traveling, the waiting in the airport, is actually the worst. And the airports on my journey didn't help alleviate the annoyances during these segments spent at the airport.

Hey, I've got my computer with me. It's like having a piece of home wherever you go. So, I leave my real world and commence my universally appealing and understandable virtual life. I say that because everyone knows that you can be someone online, which is a lot better than being anyone in the airport. You can be completely different, show people what you want to show them. You can no longer escape from your past, if your past is online, not that I'm doing that. Well, that's another topic, one's identity.

Oh well, back to real life, man real life sucks. The plane was delayed another 30 minutes. OK, no problem 30 minutes is still alright I think. Then 10 minutes later it gets delayed another 15 minutes. Well, (insert swear word). Looks like I'll be missing the flight out of Newark. We could still make it, I think.

On the plane, I get seated next to an old man who doesn't like any physical contact, and apparently his clothes have a nervous system in them as well. I'm checking out the other people around. No babies, good, businessmen, fine, and ooh, a cute girl, who looks artsy. So, we sit out on the tarmac forever, obviously not flying or doing anything that could speed up the time of arrival.

Then the landing came about 10 minutes before the departure of the next plane. Well. let's go, I can do it. Despite the announcement to let people through who need to connect to other flights, everyone clogs the aisle as soon as the fasten seat belt sign is off. Thus, smashing any hope of getting to the next flight, and that's when I calm down.

I'm making my way to the Air India desk. I'm glad I wasn't infuriated, because there wasn't anyone there to berate. Why? The Air India desk is only open four hours per day! So, I'm hanging around to see if there will be anyone who comes by. Well, it's the artsy girl.

I initiate conversation seeking self-recognition that I'm not that shy. "Hi, are you looking for the Air India staff?" "Yes, I am. I'm going to Paris." "Me too. I'm going to work there." "Me too, what are you going to do there? "I'm going to be an assistant d'anglais." "I'm doing the exact same thing."

To make things short, Air India only has one flight per day to Paris from Newark. Well, at least I have someone to share this inconvenience with, Tara, the artsy girl. We had to endure one night in a New Jersey Holiday Inn dreaming of the City of Lights while surrounded by giant gas containers and other industrial equipment. In case many of you don't know, this part of New Jersey is to New York City, what Gary, Indiana is to Chicago. It was not how I imagined waking up on September 17. Well, the airport was fun to hang out in, solely for the plenitude of foreigners there. We essentially built a fort out of our luggage in the food court. Snuggled comfortably amongst our suitcases, we computed away our remaining hours in America.