As we loaded the car with all my junk, I couldn't help but feel like the situation was made out to be more serious than it actually was.

As I rode down Melrose Avenue, I distinctly thought that I maybe should be feeling more than I was at the time.

As I made my way through airport security, I felt weird looking back at my family and waving each time. 1, 2, 3 times as I pulled my laptop out of my bag. 4, 5, 6 times and I waited for my things to come out of the scanner.  7, 8, 9, and a tenth time as I shifted my foot into its shoe again.  I walked through the terminal and sat at the gate, as far from security as I could.  I played my music, and reached for my belt to put it back on.

Instead I found my camera.  We forgot to take a picture before I left.  I had been successfully pushing down the lump in my throat, but a single missed opportunity like that proved itself too much for my willpower and I started to cry.  As Joni Mitchell's Both Sides Now lamented wasted love, I too felt there was a lot I could lament over.

I slowly got up and picked up my bags and returned to the security checkpoint.   My family was still there after 15 minutes, and I met them to say goodbye again.  We took some pictures, and got mad at each other, and made some jokes.  I was even able to talk to my older brother on the phone so I could say goodbye to the whole family.  When it was time to say goodbye again, I had a much easier time of it.  Nothing was very different, only I shooed my family instead of waved - I would be fine with everything this time.  1, 2, 3 shoo.  4, 5, 6, shoo.

And I boarded the plane.  And it took off.  And I made it to Philadelphia.  I think the hard part is over.