For the last eight years I have lived in Minneapolis. During that time I made travel a frequent occurence, once flying out of state for leisure for over 20 consecutive months. Typically, I'd return to town on the last plane Sunday night. I sometimes wouldn't land until close to midnight. Over time I developed a routine that would be most efficient in getting me back to my apartment and in bed in time for a least a few hours of sleep before Monday's morning of meetings.
I had planned everything from my seat on the airplane to my position on the airport tram so that I would be in the best position to just catch an infrequent Sunday night train into the city. Depending on my timing, I'd either transfer to a bus ddowntown or walk the last twenty minutes over the MIssissippi and into Marcy Holmes.
This whole routine was meant to be fast, but I would always stop and reflect when I reached the driveway of my building. Sometimes it'd be raining, sometimes it'd be below zero, and it'd always be dark. I would stand in the middle of the driveway and marvel that I was home. I may have started the day on a different continent, bu now I was about to return to my life in Minneapolis. The next morning I would be engrossed in work and wouldn't believe that I was in some other world just 24 hours earlier.
Tonight I am making my last flight into Minneapolis for awhile. In two weeks I'll be moving overseas. When I do fly into MSP again, years will have passed, and who knows what will have changed in the city? Tonight I will not rush through my routine. I will appreciate each step.