It’s no secret that I am not a lover of being inside of an airplane. I do love airports and have gotten some teriffic stories from sitting quietly (hard to believe I know) and watching. And yes, airport bars are the absolute best.
So yesterday about fifty miles outside of Tampa I decided to suck it up and look out the window. Behind me was Wisconsin and the lingering laughter from my mom’s fabulous 80th birthday party, rolling hills of green, corn almost as high as my house, and a the scent of familiarness that only comes from years in one place.
My daring view from the airplane window was breathtaking. Blues and greens blending into this kaleidoscope of paradisal beauty that made me put my hand to my heart. The ocean touched the shore and the shore touched the green and the green never stopped but instead waved me home.
The moment I finally escaped through the big sliding glass doors and felt the rush of hot muggy air wrap its arms around me I thought I might start crying. Everything felt right, comfortable, perfect.
I am in the right chair. The right state. The right place.
For now homebase is right here. And I am happy as hell.