It had been four and a half hours. Four and a half hours of quiet noise. Four and a half hours of shuffling seats. Four and a half hours of cramped legs. Four and a half hours of gentle shaking. Four and a half hours on a plane.
We heard the ding of the seatbelt sign, and the little orange symbol lit up in front of us. We buckled, and we waited, and we landed. Everyone applauded the pilot, and began to collect their belongings. I wrapped up my headphones and grabbed my duffel bag from the overhead compartment. Then we waited. We waited in the seemingly endless line to disembark.
That first step is always the greatest. The sunshine hits your face, you feel the warmth pushing away the freezing air from the cabin. You can see the heat waves rising off of the tarmac and the sun shining through the vast amounts of trees all around. It’s exhilarating, nerve wracking, exciting, and relieving all at once. We can hear the engines of the plane humming and the quiet chit-chat amongst the other passengers. It’s loud while still peaceful. I take a deep breath and soak in the atmosphere and view: sunny, bright, open skies, fresh air. I think to myself, “I’m finally home.”
No, we didn’t land in the United States. We landed in San Pedro Sula, Honduras. Yes, the United States is my home, but Honduras is my home away from home. It’s a dream, the place I wish to be when everything here is just so overwhelming. When someone tells you to go to your happy place, this is where I go. It is calming and reassuring and inviting. Every aspect of the journey isn’t desirable, and can in fact be very stressful. But as soon as I take that first step off the plane, I know that it is all worth it.
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