Chi-Town with a Side of Broccoli Beef

This weekend I flew alone for the very first time, a feat which proved to be much more daunting than originally anticipated. 

I arrived at the airport at 1:30, had a two hour flight and a short layover in Chicago with the anticipation of a quick one hour flight and then a half hour drive to my parents' house. Unfortunately my arrival in Chi-Town began a descent into hell which I didn't emerge from until 5 am the next morning.

But that's not what this post is about.

When my plane touched down at O'Hare, it sat on the Tarmac for an hour while we waited for a gate. We were later informed that a truck had parked in our spot. That's right. Our plane couldn't pull in because a truck was in the way. We then had to stand for half an hour in a windy 19 degree jetway while we waited for our valeted bags, which we hadn't been allowed to carry on because our plane was so small.

Finally, bag in hand, I got my feet on solid ground again and settled in for the layover to end all layovers. I tried to encourage my fellow passengers with jokes about the virtue of patience but was quickly shut up by their complaints about missed connections and their overwhelming negativity.

I had time to spare so I grabbed dinner at the food court and watched humanity rushing by while wielding my chopsticks and trying not to think. 

All of a sudden I felt very alone. 

My family was a state away, my friends two. I was flying home for a funeral and eating by myself and had nobody to keep me company and I felt so very alone.

And then I looked up.

And realized that everyone at my table was sitting by themselves, everyone in the food court was traveling alone and trying not to feel like the only person in the world. We were all alone. Together.

And I decided that one day I'm going back to O'Hare. And I'm going to wear a "Free Hugs" shirt and bring a case full of teddy bears. 

Because everyone could use a hug and a travel buddy.