June 9, 2009 - My Bangs are Ninja

Following a 1am packing spree, 2 hours of sleep, 3 ½ hour drive, and 4 hugs goodbye at security, I am now through the gate. Alone at last. Since Friday morning I've been living for this moment, when I would finally turn the last corner of the blue-carpeted hallway to sit quietly by the terminal windows and watch the planes come and go. It means no cell phone, it means no internet, it means no planning; it means I can do nothing more, and that is the greatest relief. Someone told me that the hardest step is onto the plane because you can't turn around. Mid-flight, the pilot is not going to sympathize with your home-sickness, regrets, or misgivings. “Sure son, we can turn this plane around. You've changed your mind? We'll be home in just a minute.”

I think the hardest moment isn't a moment. It's the press leading up to the moment of relief, when you finally turn that last corner. It's running the last errands, settling final plans, packing and repacking, fixing the things that didn't go right the first time. Once you turn the corner, there is nothing more you can do. Not immediately at least. It's the kindest relief. It's the sweet, cool air stirring past your ear on a hot afternoon when the sun beats so oppressive and heavy you lose your breath. You just let go, sit back, and give in to the ride you have signed yourself away to. I'm relieved, alright?

I hadn't spent five minutes on the Other Side before noticing a stranger in loose-fitted cotton pants and a plaid shirt. His unresolved eyes fixed directly on my tumbled hair. His companion, a similar-looking traveler, seemed to find my Merrell treckers fascinating. He cocked his head to one side and studied them diligently, as if looking for for an answer. And how did I see all these things without staring rudely back? Through my new ninja cut, of course! I haven't had bangs since I was eight-years-old. Yesterday I went to the hair dresser, closed my eyes, and told her to have fun. Five inches and quite a few layers later, my family doesn't recognize me. It's a mildly wild cut with curl and flair. The shaggy bangs constantly fall in my eyes, making intimate conversation difficult, exactly my point. It gives me an air of mystery. And I can see everything through the unruly fringe. But you can't see me! Edgy,l I call it, and comfortably distancing. I think it adds to my battery of ninja powers, along with super clean kitchens, onion washing, an indelible desire to laugh, and dancing to my ipod in the street. In the meantime, we'll just have to wait out this tornado warning.