I never sleep well the night before an early morning flight. It isn’t the travel that keeps me awake; it’s the fear that something will go wrong in the long list of things that could go wrong. The night is fraught with anxiety, driven by the awareness that I have to get up early, shower, shave, and dress, make a final check of the bags, travel to the airport, find a baggage cart, schlep the bags to the counter, check-in, go through security, and maybe get a latte before boarding begins. The process is even more stressful when the airport and check-in are new or unfamiliar.
Archive for Paris
Memory is such a miraculous, mysterious, and elusive thing. It’s the glue that supports relationships and links us to the past. Quicksilver. A slippery source of joy and recollection. A place we go for love and safe haven, sometimes true and sometimes false.
Occasionally the picture of a street or restaurant embeds itself securely in my memory but when I revisit the scene later the reality doesn’t conform. Often, I discover the restaurant I pictured so clearly on one corner is on a different corner two blocks away.
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