There's a map right in front of me. I'm struggling to read it due to the passenger in front of me who insists upon placing his hands on the back of my chair. But from what I can make of it, we're 1168 miles from our destinations: Paris, France. Right now, essentially, there is nothing that separates me from the Atlantic Ocean. Well, besides this very large aircraft, but that defeats the purpose.
I've always had a fear of the ocean. When vacations roll around, the beach never summons my name. Granted this could be a result of Galveston beach being my primary exposure to ocean water. Anyway, I don't like not knowing what's beaneath me. I don't like the vastness of it. I've often stated that in an ultimatum where I would be forced to be in a submarine in the deepest depths in the middle of an ocean or in a spaceship, I'd be NASA bound.
So as this trip begins, I hope to do a few things. I hope to cherish the time I have to think without all the stress that usually bombards me from August to May. I hope to think about all the people that are separated from me by this ocean beneath me. And think of all the reasons I love them! And couldn't bear to be gone from them any longer than these three weeks ahead of me. I tried to not get my hopes up for this trip knowing that that would ensure I would come back even more excited than I came in. But as I sit here in this teeny chair (I hate every single one of you 1st class people with your chairs pracically the size of my queen size bed at home!) I've had time to think about how wonderful it is that I get to do this. At age seventeen. So here we go! Wish me bon vacances! Missing you already! It's MB reporting to you life from the City of Lights.