I left on a chilly, bleak Tuesday afternoon. My family drove me to the train station, and I got on the train and sat, disbelieving, as it headed south towards New York. I read, dozed a little, and tested the new data plan the Chaplain had set up for me that would work on both sides of the Atlantic.

I arrived in the New York after six. I wasn’t in a rush and had time to come above ground at Penn Station and wander a few blocks in a few different directions. I hadn’t been to that part of New York at night in ages. The huge LCD billboards were new to me. There was a man playing pop on a saxophone, the sound soulfully bouncing off the buildings. I dipped into a tiny pizza place and bought a slice, then stopped in another place for a fruit smoothie.

From Penn Station, a train to Jamaica would connect me to the Airtrain to JFK. The process was super easy and I made it to the check-in line at the airport in plenty of time, which is good, because check-in was long and disorganized. That was my first preview of what to expect from my budget airline, and it was a trend that would continue with abysmal and insanely expensive food on the flight.

Usually, flying for me involves a great deal of anxiety. I love travel, but flying is a means to an end. I don’t like the feeling of being trapped on a plane, and I dread the thought of using the airplane lavatory. I usually prepare for a flight with dramamine, and I’d brought my CBD oil. I did take the dramamine, but didn’t need anything else, and didn’t find the flight to be stressful. As it turns out, when you aren’t responsible for anyone besides yourself, a flight is surprisingly uneventful.