People say that coming over one direction or the other is worse. Everyone’s an expert. I don’t know, man, I just know that I got it bad right now. Three flights over oceans or seas or what-have-you in a matter of less than two weeks, coming off the stress of an Oxonian term, plus a bus ride as long as a flight in the middle of that and no time to get over the first jet-lag because there was just too much to do in New York, and let me tell you – I’m seeing the world through zombie’s eyes.
My brother called me a jet-setter, and boy, did that stick in my craw. I tried to argue him out of thinking that, but once you get started arguing with my brother, you may as well count on being in for the long haul. I love that about him, though. He makes it seem like he knows everything about everything, and me, with my little sis hero-worship eyes, I sometimes forget that it isn’t so. I sometimes get so deep into some nonsense argument about the fashion industry – something neither of us, by the by, knows much of anything about – that I need to pause, breathe, and then remind myself and him that we’re both spouting bullshit. I’ve even encountered the rare occasion, lately, in which I was able to tell him flat out that he was just being contrary for the fun of it, to which he admitted readily, with that little grin that I can transpose onto his face at any age.
I’m not a jet-setter, let’s be clear about that. I may fly a lot, but it’s due to my peculiar circumstances. I’m lucky, yes, that both my mother and I have incredibly simple needs and desires outside of our traveling. Or maybe it’s not luck at all, maybe I’m reared the way I am because I always knew that purse strings need to be pretty tight in order to be able to fund all this necessary international travel.
I’ve never been further into the real South than Arlington, Virginia, which is technically below the Mason-Dixon line, so it kind of counts, but my jet-lagged fingers are typing out this mildly Southern accent in my head and probably doing it all wrong. A fourth flight is coming up soon, and everything starts a-winding down then. A scary thought, that is. A real terror, truly. The next year and more are laid out in front of me and let me tell you, that rose path of a red carpet is nettled with thorns. I’m barefoot, you know. But I’ve got calluses this thick from all the walking I do. It’ll all be alright, honey. Yes it will.