Distance to Destination

✈️

We pull down our masks so TSA can identify us at security.
We wait at the partially empty gate for them to call our partially empty flight.
We reduce contact and scan our boarding passes.
We social distance (slightly) in the jetway.
I arrange my Kindle and water bottle in the ultra-clean seat pocket.
We have the middle seat empty between us. Bliss!
Masks still on.

Traveling looks different now.

The flight takes off and I tap on the screen in front of me.
Flight Tracker.
Distance to Destination.
The number of miles starts at 1689 from Atlanta to Salt Lake City.
The miles tick down as the minutes pass.

I know exactly how long it will take to reach the finish line.
To get home.
To be done.
Distance to Destination.
It’s nice knowing it. Watching it move toward something. That little plane hops across the map and eats up the line it sits on.
It’s comforting to know how far I have to go.

I look at that screen and realize, as a widow, I don’t know the distance to my next destination.
I don’t know what it will look like or feel like or be.
I’m not sure how many miles away it is or how many minutes it will take.
I don’t even know where the flight tracker is for grief.

Traveling looks different now.

I like knowing the end goal.
And the end goal is a question mark right now.
I’m not exactly sure what will come next.
How it will look. What I will become.
It’s not my favorite. The not knowing.

So, now what?
Maybe it’s ok if I don’t hit that flight tracker button right now.
Maybe it’s ok if I leave the screen off.
Or turn on a movie, instead.
Maybe it’s ok to sit back, with my Kindle ready and my water handy.
And wait to decide the distance to the next destination.✊🏻💙