And So it Began

When big plans are made and their completion is pursued, I'm always wary of a rocky start. I had spent all night, and the majority of the early morning hours packing and re-packing my life into a backpack and a carry on. I'd gone over and over everything that I was brining and was sure I had it all. And I did, well sort of, the only thing I forgot was my brain. My early AM flight came around, we threw my cement packed bags in the van and drove to the airport. Dad dropped Mom, Ariel and I off in front of Frontier Airlines so he could park the car. When he met us inside, we were moving from the Frontier counter to the US airways counter, apparently I wasn't in the right system. Confident I booked my Boise to Chicago ticket on my favorite airline, I was skeptical upon approaching the US Airways desk with my memorized itinerary. Sure enough, they sent me back to Frontier, at which point my heart was drooping with the anxiety of missing my flight. Mom pulled out the itinerary she had me send her the week or so before, and my heart skipped a beat in panic. I already missed my flight! My memorized schedule was off by a day, it was the 20th and my booking was for the 19th. Where my brain was while I checked the itinerary, or disgarded the idea of printing even the flight number or even in my months of preperation for this trip, I couln't tell you. And so I re-approached the Frontier counter, my words all a blubber, and tried to explain my absense of thought. I don't know the agents name, but before I could even ask if there was anything they could do, she was booking me on standby. I was fortunate enough to have such an early flight that standbys were no issue at all, and I made my connecting flight in Denver with no problem as well. While a seedy start may make me anxious adn doubt the security of the rest of the plans, in this instance, I like to think of it as the first of many adventures. (I've already double and tripple ckecked my coming flight itineraries and I'm keeping a close eye on my passport. :)

Once in Midway Airport, I wandered out of the terminal to claim my checked bag, and then proceeded to the CTA station. The Orange loop took about half an hour in which I enjoyed the sights of South Chicago's brick suburbia, as well as the company and conversation of a local Boise(ian) (what a small world). His last words to me were "Get a move on" or something to that effect as I raced the subway's closing doors and jumped out onto the platform of Quincy Station. With my soccer-bag hung over my right shoulder, backpack layered on top of that and my sweatshift sleeves rolled up, I looked around at where I was and contmeplated where I needed to go. Counting it better safe than sorry, and taking advantage of no language barrier, I asked two business men the way to Union Station. They pointed me towards the stairs with the revolving floor-to-ceiling exit gate. I thanked them and smiled as I thought about the sceen I was about to create. Yes, I got stuck, but only briefly, and I was on my way again. I only had to walk three blocks west, and I was at the station. By chance I choose the right tunnels and was sitting, waiting and relaxing for an hour before my Amtrak train departed for Bloomington. During my wait, I conversed about travel, train travel, plane travel, foot travel, bike travel, car travel, maybe even boat travel with an old man whose name I didn't catch. He was going back up North after having visited his daughter for the weekend. He had a rugged, worn complexion, was not a dentist (not probably friends with too many) and smelled more than slightly of alcohol. It's intersting the people that God has us meet, and even if we did have little in common to share, I still smile at our conversation. He bid me a good trip as I left for the line with a grin and a "Later Baby", which didn't creep me out as much as other such fare-wells may have.

I was one of the first on the train, so I piled my stuff under my feet and cuddled up to the seat to catch some lacking Z's. I don't remember how long I was asleep for, but when I woke up, I caught the reflection in my window of a little girl looking back at me from the seat behind me. We exchanged hello's and for the rest of the train ride, she left me little more than 10 seconds of no conversation. Her name was something cute and unique to match her, and I remember her favorite food is strawberries and bubble gum. And while she doesn't like sea-food, she likes shrimp, and crab, and fish :) (you think sea-food is just one of those names we're trained not to like? Kinda like lima beans or brussle sprouts? When in all reality, we may really love them if they were just given a new, fresh name?). When I told her my friend was picking me up from the station, and then described to her what she looked like, she was sure my friend was the same girl that sat next to her on the train last time she rode it (I guess all white people really do look alike). I was once again happy with the conversation I was able to share with a simple aquaintance, and will remember the joy at hearing her little city accent as we chatted on the train.

Caitlan picked me up at the station right as I got off the train. We split a plate of Chinese food (always a good way to start off a sleepover) and went back to her dorm to plan Saturday's "inditastic" adventure in Chicago.

Procrastination

It would appear that I am a professional procrastinator. Whether I continue to put myself under the false impression of limitless time, or my subconscious holds it all off till the end because I work best under pressure, I couldn't tell you. But here I am with a week left in Idaho and the last two months worth of work left to do. Oops. While I'm not worried about getting everything done, I do regret my last few days at home being stressful, rather than blissful time with family and friends. However, economics and I are tight like spandex, so what more do I need? Ha, this extremely extended time of rest and relaxation has given me the chance to be reflective and think… more than I usually do about the deep ponderings.
I have come to grasp more completly my identity in Christ. More often than not, I have defined myself by the world's standards rather than God's. I degrade myself by assigning my worth to what I can do in comparison to the rest of the world. In my time of solitude and activity confinement, I've found a peace I've been lacking in my pursuit for such worldly gain. While mediocrity will continue to be absent from my self-describing vocabulary, I will no longer let society's definition of the word be my guide.
(This post was started two weeks ago, I just finished it today. Procrastination?)