When I tell anyone I’m heading to Canada, they all go “whoa, that’s so far away!”
Me? My response is a flippant “nah, it’s just two flights away! I’ll get there in no time.”
Somehow, the fact that Vancouver is a 4 + 12 hour flight away with a 6 hour transit midway did not register in my mind.
I’ll just get by.
I generally like airplane rides anyway.
But it was only when I was at the 25% mark into the 12 hour flight to Vancouver, flying over the Pacific Ocean with a screaming kid seated next to me did I realize the magnitude of just how long this journey will be.
Oh fuck, what the hell did I get myself into?
Is this all worth it?
Am I going to end up killing that kid before we land?
The kid made it out of the flight alive, don’t worry. Although I must say I was dangerously close to wanting to commit murder mid-air.
But yay, I got here. A journey of 22 hours in total and I managed it solo. For some reason, I feel insanely proud of myself.
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