It was a routine trip home. Everything went like clockwork, which is good of course. Leaving at midnight from Quito, there wasn’t an opportunity to take much advantage of movies or reading time.
The highlight was talking with Abby during my layover in Atlanta. We’d discussed trying to meet for a coffee but the timelines seemed to short. Was good to hear her voice after more than three years since Nepal. You can only say so much, though, in a quiet airport lounge when you imagine everyone listening to your end of the conversation. Which of course they aren’t and if they are, who cares? I’m not quite there yet. There’s hope.
The flight to Dulles was equally routine.
I didn’t sit next to anyone interesting on any of the four legs of my trip. They all may have had the same observation.
It was getting more and more difficult to walk. I limped my way through Dulles to the baggage claim and found my two duffles quickly. That I couldn’t walk well was some small but mostly unwanted consolation to my decision to leave.
Rachel arrived after awhile and I met her out at the curb,