The butterflies in my stomach relentless, the rapid pulsing of my heart unwavering, the quivering in my hands unyielding: I can't help but second guess myself, even though I know. I know I can do this.
Having dreamed of this since my tongue first spoke Spanish, savoring every syllable, I know that I can do this. Having been restless since I caught the travel bug after my trip to Paris, I know I can do this. I have to, I want to, I need to.
And so, prepared as I can possibly be, yet not prepared at all, I wait to start my journey. Watching the polished businessmen yammering into their cells, I wait. Smiling at the frazzled parents checking and double checking their boarding passes, all while chasing down two rosy-cheeked toddlers, I wait. Watching travelers pass by my gate, some in no hurry, mosying by with Starbucks in hand; others whizzing by, polished businessmen striding by so fast that if I blink, I only catch a flash of their navy blue tailored suits, I wait..
Through all the bustle, I wait, wondering; hoping; dreaming.
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