Sunday, October 14, 2012

Leg One: Denver to New York

As our plane approaches the state of Illinois, and as I lament missing Felix Baumgartner's epic fall to earth, I have to relay that leaving Denver wasn't at all emotional for me this morning. Am I an emotional zombie? Or maybe just a sleep-deprived zombie?

I went to sleep around 1:45 a.m., woke up at 6:45 a.m. and proceeded to see if any of my luggage gained weight over night. Every suitcase looked like it was somewhere around 48 or 50 pounds, and I still had more to pack up. So I unpacked some things, sacrificing more stuff, again. I'm beginning to wonder what is in my bags that makes them so heavy, if anything. It's probably the bottles of vitamins. Maybe.

I showered, packed up, sold my bed, and schlepped off without enough time to hit the bank. Here's hoping there's a Chase Bank at LaGuardia or JFK. If not? I'm kind of screwed. I returned my car and arrived at the airport at the same time as approximately five million other people. Yes, the line for security went out and around to baggage claim, which, if you've never been at DIA is, well, insane. What's more insane is that it took about 15 minutes to get through security. I should have just taken the chance and not taken out my liquids and computers; they probably wouldn't have said anything.

If anything is going to kill me on this trip, it's the giant computer and the three books I could fit into my carry on. My carry on suitcase is … it's got to wait like 40 pounds. I nearly killed two people getting it into the overhead compartment. Throw on that my backpack, which is stuffed to the brim with my camera, my computer, my iPad, my unlocked iPhone 4s, and other fragile items like my mezuzot … and I'm going to have knots in my back the size of golf balls and sore arms for a week.

I'm kvetching a lot, aren't I? Sorry. I love traveling; I hate schlepping.

I'm eager to get to my hotel. For the first time in a good six months or so, I'll be able to watch Sunday night television -- live! It's the small stuff, folks. I'm eager to just kick back and chill out for a little while, to enjoy a cushy king-size mattress and really let my hair down (not that it's possible).

Listen, I'm not feeling the reality of my move yet. Is that weird? Maybe I won't? I wrote in my last post about how it just feels right, it feels like a second skin. Is that why it doesn't feel like I've packed my life up and am moving across the world? Why does it feel so … relaxed? So inconsequential? So … just so?

Maybe once I get to JFK tomorrow and see the Nefesh b'Nefesh booth and join the other olim at the gate it will suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks. And maybe it won't, and I'm okay with that.

Anyone out there who has made aliyah: What was the experience like for you? Butterflies or anxiety or fears or excitement or anything?