Travel...

Sitting on a plane last night, I watched out the window as the lights flashed at the end of the wing.  I was fixated, not on what I was seeing, but on what I was hearing.  I was listening to some of my favorite 80’s music and as each song’s first notes resonated in my headset, an instant memory accompanied the tune.

“I can’t believe I’m 34!” I kept thinking to myself, while reflecting on the memories companioned with the music.  Two kids, two dogs and a wife at home and I wondered what they were doing as I sat, uncomfortably close, to a woman, nodding in-and-out of sleep. 

I could feel my heart, physically aching to be with them.  Holly is such a good mom, I know they’re fine at home, but selfishly I want to be the one to brush teeth and say prayers before bed.

I’ve traveled over 110,000 miles this year, which is halfway to the moon, literally.  From Bentonville (yesterday) to Philly, Minneapolis, Chicago, LA, Toronto, Detroit, NYC, Tampa, Houston, Boston and many, many other places and most of those cities more than a half dozen times. 

The biggest perk, from all the travel is NOT the upgrades to First Class, the weird “warm towel” they give you there (for which use, I still not not), the free airline tickets, compensated food and a chance to see the country/world on someone else’s dime. 

The biggest perk, the thing to which I look forward to the most, the time I daydream about as I adjust over and over and over again, in my seat, each time I travel…

To hear my kids scream when I walk in the door. 

I cherish how overly exaggerated my children’s reactions are the moment they hear the buckle of my laptop bag hit the ground; Tessa’s gasp and subsequent squeal; Landon’s exclamation, “Dad!”  Then the small, in-home version, of the "Running of the Bulls."

I don’t love to travel; I love to come home!