the art of traveling alone.

I really should've done this in the spur of the moment--but now here I am--writing about something that happened over six weeks ago. Time flies way too fast.

I was sitting on my temporary-bed-air-mattress when I made this random sketchbook page. Of course, there were a million thoughts bouncing around in my mind and I had to wake up at four a.m. the next morning to catch my flight. 

Reasonable thing to do? Go to sleep.

What did I actually do? Stay up until two ripping a k-pop album to shreds and putting the remains in my sketchbook (sorry Nina). I genuinely write a lot of okay-ish poetry (or at least I used to) so I ripped that from my notebook and glued it in there too. I don't really know why I included this, I think it was just a very memorable moment for me from my last night in the house.

Next was the actual plane trip. The photos might end up wonky and all out of order--I'm formatting this on a computer--so, if you're reading this on a phone, now you know why it looks so messed up. 

The ride there was so weird, at least for me. My mind was already on the plane and on the way to my first stop halfway across the country. While we were looking for a parking spot, my mom told me she used to listen to Gorillaz and that strange fact is the only thing I remember that she said that morning. I was obviously not present and I kind of regret it, but then again, the past is something I either easily forget or is completely blocked from my mind where I can't reach it.

Traveling alone still hasn't hit me. The fact that I was alone never settled in, even while I was sketching my orange juice jug at five a.m. on a window ledge (there were no seats left near my gate) and eating an airport hot dog (which still had the yucky plastic on it--a devious act). The view outside was beautiful, however, and waiting in that airport for my flight made me feel really comforted for some reason. Maybe it was the lighting, or how it was just beginning to be morning, or the millions and bajillions of businesspeople running around with briefcases, I just felt so safe. Or how it was pitch black outside and slowly turning into a grayish morning. I still can't explain it. I was at a weird peace.

The actual plane ride wasn't too bad, but I regret not bringing a book because I had absolutely nothing to do as I sat in the plane for three and a half hours. The girl next to me was very talkative though, and I got to have a grounding conversation with her about where we were both heading. While she slept I drew in my sketchbook, and it was just a repeat until we finally landed. I'll always be thankful for her, especially the fact that she was a Jesus-lover too. I'd choose her any day over a random guy.

The next flight wasn't horrible but the feeling of restlessness was definitely starting to get to me. Since I was traveling backwards across the country, I was basically fighting against time, and when I landed at my first stop I was back in morning-time again. It's so surreal, being stuck in morning forever. I feel like if you did that all day, and just chased the sun around all over the world you'd have infinite day. But I got to have my infinite day for a little while. Chasing the sun and gaining back time is an art I never thought about until then. The guy sitting next to me on my flight was also stepping on my charger (I'm sorry) and I won't lie when I say it was extremely annoying when I did everything I could to get it back. I didn't use my phone anyway, but still, it added to the restlessness. I felt like I was going to be frozen in time forever, never moving, with no sense of when I was going to get there because the time was going backwards instead of forwards as I went on.

After I finally got off that flight I was worried out of my mind that I would never find my ride and that my checked bags would be completely gone, but worrying always proves useless in these situations as everything worked out perfectly (thank God). I did, however, slip up when asking one of the airport police officers for directions to the baggage claim. She looked at me with the most concern I've ever seen a person express when I told her I came from the flight to Portland, Oregon, and she said she would hope that everyone here came from that flight (because--big surprise Amanda--we're in Oregon). I guess that traveling all day will do that to you.

The jet lag from just three hours from coast to coast was enough to throw me off for two whole weeks, but I've grown adjusted to it since then. So much has happened and my mind is boggled with ideas of how I'm going to catch up on it all, but I'm going to take it one day at a time. My writing skills are deteriorating like Pablo Picasso at his finest (but with art) and I guess a good way to look at it is that the "worse" it gets the more beautiful it is; to look at, to understand, to feel. So I guess Pablo was onto something. And so am I, I hope.