Userpic drabble.
The pilot sings out that if we look out over the right wing we can see Lake Michigan. I don't have the faintest idea what Lake Michigan looks like, so I peer out.
I'm tired, it's been a crazy morning: I couldn't sleep last night for the excitement, and with all the rushing to the airport in time to make the plane and worrying that my boss didn't really mean it when she said it was okay that I (the newbie) was taking a vacation so close to my start date, I'm not as excited as I usually am about taking a trip. I'm hungry and tired and sick of gingerale and stewardesses. But down there- somewhere- is Lake Michigan, and I want to see it.
As I peer out of the window, into the brightness, and see the watery obsidian sheen winking from between fluffy clouds, I remember why I'm taking this trip and how much I'm looking forward to seeing my cousin again. I lean back against the window and exhale softly and everything else just melts away. I'm winging my way to Seattle for the first time in years and I'm so happy I could burst. I may not have a job after I get back, but I have this moment, and it's worth so much more.