The airport

Here I go. I'm about to embark on a 7 month adventure throughout Latin America. I've been wanting this since I was 2 years old, I'm so ready. My bags are packed, my plans are set, I've checked my baggage, but as we approach the security gate,  I feel fear clutch my heart with dark, smoldering fingers.
"I'm hungry." I hear myself say.
"I'm sure they'll have food on the plane" my dad says, ignoring the fact that I'm stalling.
Goodbye's are awfully hard.  (I basically turned into a sobbing infant in the middle of JFK airport. I'll spare you.)
I look out of the window as we begin to take-off. New York is wet and shining tonight. I feel the plane jolt forward and finally the fear loosens its grip and gives my heart a rest. Excitement creeps in, along with a swell of gratitude. I sit back in my seat, the wheels of the plane kiss New York goodbye, and I'm thrilled with the notion that the next time those wheels touch land: I will be on the other side of the world.