05.19.25 | BNA>SEA

It is impossible to sleep the night before a morning flight. Even though I packed early and checked and rechecked my bags. Even though I have all my tickets and documents in order. Even though I set five alarms I wouldn’t need. Sleep is light and fitful.

Arriving at the airport before the sun and settling in at the departure gate with the morning light is a familiar ritual. Not one I crave. But one I have fondness for. So is this flightpath--from the middle of the country, to the coast, to East Asia, to home.

I was four years old when we moved to Thailand. I remember we had to wake up at 4 a.m. to catch our flight at DFW. It was my first time flying on a plane. And it was taking us to the exact opposite side of the globe. Twelve hours time difference from Texas. The flight was long and arduous according to my parents. I remember nothing, mercifully, of the hours in the air, extended layovers, of packing up a whole life and shipping bits of it by boat to a foreign country, of worrying about passports and visas, of learning a new language, of leaving friends and family far, far behind.

It was nothing but adventure for me. And quite normal. I traded Texas for Thailand without qualms. Everything is strange and wondrous as a child, so everything is easily embraced.

We start boarding. My first stop is Seattle. A first for me. We typically began our Pacific crossings from LAX. But then it’s on to Incheon, an airport I’ve flown through more times than I care to count.