The richness beyond the mainstream obsession with 'what's right for me'.
I’m sitting on a flight home from the east coast of Australia, without kids (it’s very strange). I don’t have my regular cargo of a husband, two children, two ride on suitcases that resemble a dog and a unicorn and a carry on bag holding all of our sentimental letters and cards, birth certificates, passports, and my great grandmother’s engagement and wedding rings.
I am bone tired from two nights of minimal sleep, timezone changes and a stressful morning that had me making it to the airport at the ‘final call’ for my flight— not a typical occurrence for me as I was raised by someone who is always majorly early to everything (flights at 11am? I’ll be there at 5am, just in case of traffic or road works or an impromptu carnival). My mum would’ve had a heart attack knowing how closely I cut it today.