3.22.23 // My Bag is Packed

I can already taste the crumbly Biscoff cookies and the slightly stale peppermint tea. I can smell the static air filled with a mix of scents - fuel, perfume, a cheeseburger someone snuck on board for a mid-flight snack. I can feel the "leather" seat beneath me in rigid form, ready to tattle on me with an aggressive squeak if I make even the smallest movement of readjustment.
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For the first time in months, my North Face duffle bag is packed.
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For the first time in YEARS, my bag is packed and I am traveling for a pure vacation, no work trip, no trail running race, and no friends or family to visit.
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Filled to the brim with some of my favorite things, the duffle is coming more alive with each passing moment. The sheen of her waterproof cover is sparkling with the rays of sunshine and the last bits of storage dust are starting to fade away.
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For the first time in months, my senses are coming alive.
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For the first time in years, my senses are coming alive and it isn't out of obligation, people-pleasing, or "shoulds." They are coming alive because I am craving it, yearning for it, and I'm finally shaking myself awake in the wake of a chapter of deep rest.