I’m sitting in the Atlanta airport waiting for my flight to Johannesburg and I can’t help but think about the first time I was waiting for a flight to Johannesburg in October 2014.
I’m eating, for one thing. That first time I was so nervous I just sat in one place barley nibbling on a bag of trail mix. I’ve done it right this time, treating myself to a last meal and stuffing my carry on full of snacks.
I’m not calling home, tearing up wondering what the hell I was thinking when I decided to fly across the world to a new country. But instead I’m using my last few hours of parental provided data to catch up on Facebook, watch recipe videos, and finally crank out a new blog post.
I’m alone this time. That first time I was in the company of 32 others. I didn’t talk to them but luckily I had 2 years with most of them so I eventually got in a conversation here or there. Now I use this time checking in with some of those friends.
There are some points in your life that you look back on and think, those were the good old days, I wish I could do it again. That first flight and that first stretch in Lesotho is not one of those times. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I did it all and would do it again. But I’m so much happier going back to Lesotho now. There’s no fear of the unknown this time. Only fear of going back on a taxi with my mountain of bags. That first time I was going somewhere unfamiliar and I’m so much happier to be going home now.
Here’s to year three 🍻