Well, I landed at SeaTac at 7:00pm this past Tuesday and everything was quiet. The shuttle I booked anxiously as I sat in Chicago O’Hare earlier that day was broken down. The next one was coming at 9:00pm so I took the chance to wander around SeaTac a bit. Finally, the shuttle came. All the passengers hopped aboard, took their seats, the bus started moving, and I passed out.
Two and half hours later, I awoke at the bus terminal in Bellingham, grabbed my backpack and started walking as those with people waiting for them piled into their cars drove off. I walked for about 2 miles, turned a corner, walked a few more blocks and than laid my eyes on van. I searched all around the van for any signs of wear or tear, but luckily there was none (aside from the Seagull shit). I grabbed my keys from where my buddy Zach had left them waiting for me, went back to van, unlocked her, and then hopped in.
It was a weird feeling sitting in my van for the first time in about three weeks. I had been doing so much, moving all about, seeing people and spending time with family. Van, on the other hand, had not moved at all. If I spent enough time, I realized I could convince myself that the past three weeks had been nothing but a dream and that I had in reality just spent an hour sitting behind the wheel waiting to get on my redeye or not. Knowing this not to be true, I saved myself the internal argument.
I held the key, the rest subtly dangling, and placed in the ignition. Little sputters and hums ensued, but that right on cue my baby breathed life. It was nice to feel the power of that engine. We drove off, the dust of three weeks whisking away in the air as we left, and headed to a little bay overview Zach had shown me awhile back. I found a spot where no signs indicated that it were illegal for me to park there, a routine that I had lost practice of, killed the engine and crawled into the back to lay on my bed.
It was a weird night of sleep – lots of tossing and turning, overheating, and weird noises, but it was exactly what I wanted. It is a weird feeling, knowing that I am the originator of much of my own discomfort; however, it is something I am learning to live with. Rather than falsely chase some ridiculous ideal of total comfort, I am merely trying to learn to live with less and less, with the hope of building some sort of tolerance for discomfort in my life.