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Lost at Home


Father and daughter in Times Square

 

When do you travel? Do you pack bags to fulfill work obligations, visit family, or change scenery? It could be all of the above.


With the cost of flying, I'm sure you hesitate to book a flight just because it's Friday. Tuesdays used to be the best days to find a flight deal. Nowadays, I don't believe it matters when you purchase airfare.


Time with my daughter, a phone upgrade, computer repairs, the Portland marathon, and a childhood friend's birthday party sent me to the States. Yes, it took all of that to leave Antigua. I wanted to bring the entire family, but the expenses proved too much.


I departed on July 2 for a trip that left me stranded at home. Keep reading; I will explain.


The journey to Chicago began when my daughter and I boarded our first flight to New York. We had an 11-hour layover at the JFK airport before the next legs left for Chicago, DC, and Portland. I decided to use the time to get my phone and computer repaired alongside a visit to Times Square.


Although it was after 1 AM when we arrived at 7th Avenue, the lights and crowds made it feel like midday. They say, "New York is the city that never sleeps." It's not just a cliché.

The energy of NYC encouraged me to take care of past-due business.


In March of this year, my dad bought me a new phone. I took it to Antigua and discovered the phone's incompatibility with the local network. The salesperson sold us a locked device.


Antigua did not have the technology to unlock it for my carrier.


The long layover in New York offered ample time to trade in the unusable cellphone and replace the battery on my laptop. After two hours at the Apple Store and eating two slices of NY-style pizza, we returned to the airport and waited for our next flight. When we arrived in Chicago, we split up.


My daughter traveled to visit her auntie in Maryland, and I went to Portland to run another marathon.


 


 

Do you remember last week's post about running? I encouraged you to try jogging as a method of communicating with God. After an unsuccessful race, the piece came to me on the plane back to Chicago.


Portland's marathon reintroduced me to Jesus's last message of love and suffering. After 30 hours of non-stop traveling and six hours of choppy sleep, I fell apart on the course and experienced debilitating cramps in both hamstrings. The love of running came with me in my heart, but the flat course's shocking delivery of hills and turns prevented a personal best time.


I failed again to meet the goal of the Boston Marathon's qualifying time for my age and gender. However, through the subpar performance, I learned about perseverance, and how to train for the next attempt.


After Portland's marathon, I returned to the hotel, showered, packed my bags, and returned to the airport. While in Chicago, I visited with family and friends, some of whom I had not seen in person for seven years. I will spare the details of everything, but keep your eyes peeled for a future video recap.

 


 

By Sunday, I was ready to return to my wife, boys, and routines.


Have you ever had a flight canceled?


The airlines canceled our return flight. For two additional days, my daughter and I stayed in the States. It was like being lost at home.


Thanks to my sister and brother-in-law, we had plenty of food, water, and shelter, but it wasn't quite home.


Home is wherever your family is, but it's not tied to one geographical location. Where is home for you? For me, home exists in North America and Africa.


While traveling between homes, I created a video of a memorable open-water swim meet in Antigua. The video editing process made me feel like I never sold half of my belongings to afford the trip! I'm joking, but watch this month's vlog episode below.


In the coming weeks, I will share some profound traveling reflections. Subscribe here to avoid missing any future posts.



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https://www.theguardian.com/world/2022/nov/23/terminal-man-lived-in-paris-airport-18-years-ill-never-forget-weeks-with-him

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That's an incredible story. I can't imagine sleeping on an airport bench for 18 years! I had a hard time of doing it for six hours. 😁

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Reminds me a little of "Sir Alfred [whose] full name was Mehran Karimi Nasseri. He had arrived at the Paris airport without proper documentation and was now trapped [for 18 years]. Your relatives are "keepers", Dr. Lindsay.

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I am going to take a look at the article. Thanks for sharing, Parrish.


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