I’m in Dallas. The sky outside the terminal windows is hazy orange, the kind of light that feels both dreamy and grounding. I’m sitting at a charging station, watching people rush by with fast food bags and carry-ons, and for the first time today, I feel my body begin to relax.
My phone died sometime after we landed in Seattle. I missed documenting that moment — the cold jet bridge, the surprise of hearing American accents all around me, the view of Mt. Rainier peeking through the clouds. By the time I found a place to charge, we were already boarding for Dallas.
So here I am now. Coffee in hand, messages from friends trickling in, and my heart finally catching up with me.
I’m tired. A little disoriented. And I’ll admit it — I feel nervous. Oklahoma is just one short flight away. A new home. A new pace. A person who’s waiting, who sees me not as someone broken, but someone beginning again.
There’s part of me that wants to cry. Not from sadness, but from how big all this feels. This is the furthest I’ve ever gone — literally, emotionally, spiritually.
But I look around, and I’m reminded: I made it. I got here on my own.
One more flight. One more chance to believe in new things.
Oklahoma, I’m almost ready.
