Inspired by Danielle LaPorte and Carmen’s incessant need to write herself down in order to learn who she is. These are our travel rituals.

Carmen, Feminism Editor

Since my girlfriend Geneva lives on the other side of the continent and I’m constantly dreaming of California (and A-Camp), I’ve had my fair share of experience on airplanes. (I’m a United MileagePlus enthusiast, because I’m thrifty and now I get rewarded for it.) Since I live four hours from home, I’ve also ridden many a BoltBus to New York. (MegaBus is just not as good, y’all — weirder people, low-fi Internet, fewer outlets, and a lot more setbacks.) But no matter the format, the patterns are mostly the same.

First things first: I leave my room absolutely spotless when I travel. Coming back to my real life can be rough, but a clean room to come home to can make it all better. As I’m packing, I’m also cleaning — I hang up clothes that are laying over my clothing rack, I fold up the things I decided not to bring and put them away, I throw out trash and wash any piled-up coffee mugs or toast plates. When I’m leaving, I arrange my vanity and make my bed before I get on the shuttle. All of these things help me to calm my pre-travel anxieties (which are, oddly enough, super common) and also help me return home feeling happy to be there, no matter where I was before.

As for the actual traveling itself, I need to feel fabulous when I’m en route or else everything else feels like shit, so showing up for a trip in pajamas is a huge no-no for me. Instead, I show up for red-eye flights and mid-day buses alike in my favorite outfit at the time and most likely reeking of Daisy by Marc Jacobs. (Add a pair of shades, a pack of cigarettes, and two well-placed cocktail rings and I’m ready for the paparazzi.) Before every trip, I take a long, hot shower and rub glitter lotion on my shoulders. Traveling can be stressful, frustrating, and annoying (waiting in line for a dirty bathroom, your plane being delayed two hours when you’re on a strict schedule, crying children, judgmental normie old folks in your row, the dude who takes up both armrests), especially when you hate people as much as I do. Looking good helps me feel confident and centered as I’m going through these motions, as does making a diamond in the TSA screener instead of a triangle.

As a “collector” (read: hoarder) of thrift-store suitcases, I’m terrified of checking bags for fear of losing them. Instead, I travel with a soft brown leather carry-on and my floral backpack.

#Camparazzi photo of my floral backpack, countless trips strong.

Inside the backpack, I keep Notes to Myself, usually in conjunction with The Royal Tenenbaums manuscript and/or Acorn, a Moleskine for journaling, and photos of Eli (my dog) and/or Geneva to look at on the plane and display wherever I’m staying. In the suitcase, I roll all of my clothes to maximize space and make sure I’ve packed a pair of pajama socks to make me forget I’m not wearing my fuzzy slippers at night and at least two extra pairs of underwear, just in case I encounter a panty thief. My toiletries vary: whenever I’m in a hotel, I take home the free shampoos, conditioners, lotions, and body soaps and washes on the return trip, which I then bring along for trips where I’m staying somewhere less accommodating. It saves me money the next time around, and it also allows me to remember the good / #luxelife times no matter what my travel situation is. I’ve spent a few trips now smelling of five-star hotel and feeling like I’m with Geneva in Los Angeles, so I have no regrets. Judge me all you want.

Speaking of those toiletries, though: when I’m packing, I make sure I put all the “removables” at the top of a bag. Laptops, phones, liquids — anything that ends up in one of those plastic baskets that nobody ever wants to prepare in advance despite the gargantuan line at the airport security terminal — I put somewhere easy to access and easy to refill when they’re done scanning. That way, I get to one last bit of self-righteous superiority over everyone who’s struggling to fit their laptop back into their laundry bag. (Last meaning I already showed up, as shown above, looking better than all of them.)

I’m more zen when I’m being indulgent, so I break out of my #foreverbroke mindset whenever I’m traveling, too. I buy too many drinks at an airport bar or pick up the most recent issue of Glamour if that’s what makes me feel good. I also dish out money for cabs or shuttles to simplify getting to terminals and back home again without giving myself any guilt; that way, I arrive with my ticket in hand and no back pain, and I know I’ll be there on time. (I’ve tried the Dulles Bus. That shit took too long.)

I’m also more zen when I’m not hungry, so I make sure I’ve packed at least one snack when I’m on the go. (My go-to picks: party mix, cheddar crackers of any kind, white cheddar popcorn.) If it’s morning when I’m coming or going, I go to Dunkin Donuts for a medium iced coffee, everything bagel with cream cheese, and side of hashbrowns. It works every time.

Unlike 99% of human beings, I hate sleeping en route. Over time, I’ve realized I hate working on trips even more. Travel time is me time, especially the actual journeys, so I try to avoid packing a laptop for pleasure trips or worrying about projects on the plane. Instead, I disconnect and give myself full license to contemplate my existence while staring out the window listening to Fleetwood Mac. It’s revolutionary, really.

Fikri, Contributing Editor

Various creatures I have unsuccessfully attempted to bring with me across the oceans: (clockwise from top left) Singapore cat, London cat, small brother, not-small girlfriend

The trips I take vary from hour-long train rides to Brighton from the station at my doorstep to long-haul flights between Singapore and London, but almost without fail, these are what texts to my girlfriend (who is usually asleep) sound like hours before I’m due to leave:

“hello I haven’t packed”
“I just started [new TV series]”
“I should sleep OR PACK MAYBE, IDK”
“OMG WTF [thing that happened in new TV series] ok fine I stop now”
“ugh why am I even going”
“hate packing”
“why”
(10min later)
“oh I’m done”

I actually have packing down to an art, but it’s not something you really learn to love, is it? I keep everything I need to go in a drawer: travel-sized toiletries in an airport-safe plastic bag (can’t recommend GoToob bottles enough), a travel towel, slippers (I usually stay in hostels), a universal travel adapter, and a bag to fit chargers in. All of these go into the Deuter Cross Bike rucksack I used to carry everywhere, but that’s been stolen recently so I’m now eyeing the Deuter Superbike EXP — though tbh for the past few weeks I’ve been travelling with an ordinary, super basic backpack a friend gave me and it’s not half bad save for the sore shoulders and lack of waterproofing. If I’m travelling for a bit longer, I use ziploc/vacuum seal bags to squeeze more stuff in.

I’m really easygoing when travelling, which, ironically, tends to make people I’m with anxious. I’ve found that you don’t really need to arrive at the airport more than an hour or so before your flight leaves (I’ve tested this even with two kids in my charge — my mum still hasn’t really forgiven me for this one), especially if you’re not checking a bag. It’s even better with trains and buses.

At the destination: get a paper map! For me this is the fastest and best way to navigate unfamiliar territory. (Google Maps tells you the best way to get from A to B, but doesn’t give you a good sense of what’s where.) Map postcards are also the only souvenirs I get for myself, aside from the occasional obligatory touristy photo. I’m not a fan of travel photography — capturing what many others have done before me, and probably better — so if I do bring a camera along at all I leave the zoom lenses behind in favour of more compact prime ones. I used to carry a Nikon D5100 with a 35mm f1.8 lens but now I have an Olympus OM-D EM-10 with a 25mm f1.8 lens, which, in silver, is an A+ accessory for anyone who ones to look like a caricature of a tourist. Or, y’know, just a tourist. Taking photos. As tourists do.

Reading Melissa Gira Grant’s Sexing the Whore on top of a mountain overlooking Loch Torridon in the Northwest Scottish Highlands, as tourists do.

What’s most important to me when I’m away is taking things at my own pace, whether that means sleeping in then spending the day reading in cafés and parks or pushing myself to cycle for hours on absurdly hilly country roads. I think it’s totally fine to give a giant shopping centre or rainforest tree-top walk or even the Eiffel Tower a miss if you know that’s not gonna be your thing. (Though if there’s even the slightest chance that it might be, now’s the time to find out! Tree-top walks are awesome.) “Must-sees” are a social/commercial construct, and together we can resist the homogenising hegemony of Buzzfeed’s “25 _____ You Must Visit Before You Die” lists.

Kate, Contributing Editor

I am not exactly what you’d call a frequent traveler because I do not have the greenbacks for it. I have only been to two different places that required a plane — A-Camp and Ireland — and both times I was flying Air Klonopin, so I couldn’t tell you what ritualistic things I did besides pray for my life and throw up into a ziploc bag (which the passenger next to me gave to a flight attendant because I’d fallen asleep with it full on my lap). However, I consider myself to be the Crown Prince of Megabus & Bolt Bus, and I will tell you everything I know about traveling by bus between Philadelphia, New York, and Albany.

I have actually made the full conversion from Bolt to Megabus. I firmly believe that more genuinely irritating and rude people ride on the Bolt Bus because their website is more aesthetically pleasing. I think you are promised a better experience on a bus if the website looks like it was designed in 2002 and has a rotund glossy pegman as its mascot. It takes a nice 45 year old lady who will stay on her side of the seat and politely eat a bland snack at the very beginning of the ride to book with a site like that. Bolt Bus, on the contrary, seems to be for last minute college students who show up hungover and unwilling to move over slightly, forcing half of your body to exist in the aisle while some white boy from the Boston suburbs plays Mac Miller during his nap. I am 99% sure that there was one time I was the only non-Drexel student on a bus from Philly to New York, and it took everything in my little body not to murder someone. The buses aren’t in great shape, the stupid gigantic Bolt Bus sticker is covering the entire surface of the vehicle and thus making it impossible to look out the windows, and your seatmate is a guaranteed asshole.

Bolt Bus riders, I want you to internalize something once and for all: There is no queue. Why people form a goddamned queue is beyond me, and only attests to the human instinct to make other people feel inferior. If a queue forms at any time, I blatantly stand outside of the queue as close to the bus as possible. Sometimes I throw exasperated stares at whatever person is organizing the queue and making a big deal about it. You received an assigned order for boarding ahead of time which makes you standing in line completely pointless. Sorry for dropping this truth bomb, but I’m serious, it has to stop. You are making the old lady who got here late and is forced to stand at the end of the line feel really bad, even though she is in the first boarding group and should actually feel great about herself.

Enough about how much I hate Bolt Bus these days, though. Megabus trips are full of tiny little important rituals. I always pack my own snacks because buying a snack on my stop in New York seems the equivalent of buying a car or a bag of diamonds. This usually means cashews or almonds or something else that will make me look a little weird and intimidating when I eat it. I also carry my phone charger in my hand because I am that asshole who marches straight  to the second floor back row and uses the one plug that hangs from the ceiling. Because if your bus doesn’t have working chargers, then that is the only game in town, and I, like a true Lannister, believe strongly in controlling access to whatever is the most valuable item in the bus. In all honesty, my phone is usually already charged because I can sniff out an electric socket in a public place like I’ve been trained since birth for that explicit purpose, but it’s good to know that if I need it, it’s right there, and I will only look a little stupid to have a USB cable dangling in front of my face for the whole ride.

Be prepared for whatever horrible weather will inevitably be taking place the day you are waiting for your bus. Everyone who has waited for a bus outside 30th Street Station knows that if it isn’t oppressively hot and humid and smelling of garbage, it’s because there is a torrential downpour, violent wind, or a criminal emergency. Know in advance how fast you can run from one crowded block in Midtown Manhattan to another, and whether you can do so with a rolling suitcase and a full backpack. Accept that if you want to poop on the bus, there will not be toilet paper . And then you will be truly ready for bus travel.

Mey, Contributing Editor

I filled this entire suitcase with clothes for just a two day trip to New York. You can also see a floral beanie that I didn’t wear at all (and didn’t really plan on wearing), but I did actually read that book! Also, I packed three purses.

I’m weird about the way I travel. Like, really weird. Partially because I’m a very weird person, and partially because I’m afraid of several common ways of traveling.

Probably the only travel tradition I have that is just straight up practical and isn’t rooted in tradition or superstition or eccentricity is that I always make sure I wear a dress or shorts or pants or a jacket that has pockets. Like, in my daily life, I wear dresses 90% of the time, but when I’m traveling, I want to make sure that I’m able to carry my phone, wallet and a few other things as close to myself as possible. When I get to my destination, though, it’s back to choosing fashion over function.

Packing is where I first start to show my weird colors. I always make sure to pack two books (that I don’t plan on reading) and a cute hat (that I don’t plan on wearing) because I feel like those are good things to pack and I’m afraid that someone will look through my luggage and judge me. I also always pack way more clothes than days I’ll be gone because I’m constantly afraid that I’ll stain the clothes I’m wearing. I also pack way more jewelry than I’ll need, but that’s just because I like having options.

I also carry in my pockets several Catholic tokens for protection. These include St. Joan of Arc and Our Lady of Guadalupe saint’s medals and a Brown Scapular of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. I’m pretty much cripplingly afraid of air travel, I’m pretty afraid of being on mountain roads and, as a trans woman, I’m afraid of going through airport security and having to use bathrooms at small town Red State rest stops. I’m also fairly superstitious about specific things and I was raised Catholic, so having these in my pockets where I can reach them brings me a lot of comfort.

The other thing thing that I do before I actually leave is take a selfie. I’m a big proponent of selfies, especially for people who usually get erased by visual media, like queer people, people of color, women, fat people and people with disabilities. Putting out celebratory pictures of ourselves is a radical act and makes it so the world cannot ignore us or forget we exist. I also just like getting dressed up and taking pictures of myself. Anyway, I like to take a selfie before I travel because it’s sort of a last thing I can do that I’m in total control of before I’m about to give up control of my life as I let someone else drive or pilot the vehicle I’m in.

Another notable thing about my travel routine is that when I have to fly, I usually end up crying. I’m afraid of both flying in airplanes and of heights, so the fact that airplanes fly so high up in the air really messes me up. It’s also unfairly stressful to go through airport security as a trans person (I’ve been repeatedly misgendered and had TSA agents read my birth name off my ID, look at me, and shout my birth name at me, asking why that’s my name.) Once I get past security, I try to calm myself by listening to podcasts featuring the actresses and comedians Jessica St. Clair and Lennon Parham, because first of all, they’re hilarious, and second of all, I find Jessica St. Clair’s voice to be extremely comforting. You know how people are always going on about how great Morgan Freeman’s voice is? That’s what her voice is for me. While this is usually able to calm me down a little, I like to get to airports with enough time that I’ll have at least an hour after I get through security before my flight takes off. Sometimes it’s several hours. So these podcasts work for a while, but my anxiety slowly builds until I cry at the least and have a full-on panic attack in the bathroom (this has happened twice in the past year and half) at the most. I already cry pretty often, but crying in public is a different kind of monster. Since I usually fly alone these days, it can be pretty embarrassing. So I have to prepare for this. Back in April, the comedian Chris Gethard released his first comedy album, and included on it a song that he wrote and sings with musician, awesome person and A-Camp talent Mal Blum called “Crying at the Wawa.” This song is about crying at Philadelphia-area convenience stores and how crying in public is nothing to be ashamed of at all. So, when I’m not listening to the dulcet tones of St. Clair and Parham, you can be sure that I’m listening to Mal Blum and Chris Gethard sing “Cry at home, cry at school, crying’s not just okay, crying’s cool” on repeat.

Then, when it’s time to actually fly, I have to get my body ready. I take some Dramamine and then have several Wint-o-green Lifesavers in my pocket for the flight. Those always distract me and calm my stomach, so they’re much needed when there’s turbulence and during takeoffs and landings. I also completely turn my iPhone off for the whole flight. There’s no such thing as Airplane Mode in my mind. Lastly, I always drink a ginger ale on the flight, partially because it also calms my stomach, partially because I feel like it’s a sentimental drink, and that makes me feel better about my situation.

Now, if I’m going on a road trip, things are different. There I’m comfortable (but probably because I don’t have a driver’s license so I’m able to stay pretty stress-free). My first step is making a playlist on my iPod. These playlists need to have a good mix of classic songs from throughout my friendship with whomever I’m traveling with, new songs that are some of my favorites, but that my friends might not know, and songs that are topical to the trip. This could be songs about whatever city we’re traveling to, songs about the places we’ll be traveling through, or just songs about driving. I also make sure we have great snacks for the trip. As a kid, my dad would always make Gorp (which is a kind of trail mix) because he’s a hippie and a hiker, so I like to have that to make me feel young again. Other classics that I usually bring are granola bars, apples, sour gummy worms and popcorn. I also like to bring some Powerade, because electrolytes.

Ali, Geekery Editor

Me, on a train from Paris to Munich. Photo by Renée, that loveliest of lovelies with whom I traveled for half a year.

I didn’t used to have travel rituals — I used to throw everything in a bag and just go. Which might be a ritual in and of itself, but who knows. When I lived in France, though, my school was on strike. So I did a lot of traveling because I had a lot of free time. And the best part was I was living with one of my very best friends — a fabulous woman called Renée who’s now a burlesque dancer and film-audio extraordinaire living in Austin, Texas. We’d known each other since the fifth grade and had independently decided to study in France. Our respective universities (Rutgers and University of Texas) used the same exchange program. So I’m happy to say that most of my travel rituals stem directly from this wonderful person who is so important in my life.

The first is dressing up to travel. Renée always put on a hat (complete with a hat pin we found at an antiques market in Vienna), lace gloves and a dress on to travel. “People used to dress up to travel all the time,” she said. “And now everyone looks so sloppy. I think we should bring it back.” I didn’t own nice clothes though — so I was always in ripped jeans a thrift store leather jacket and tie-dye shirt with an un-brushed butt-length hippie coiffure, looking straight out of the musical “Hair.”

Now, though, I do have nice clothes. So whenever I fly (or take a train), I dress to travel. I even wear a jacket and a bow tie, sometimes. Turns out, there’s a massive benefit to looking nice while traveling. I used to get stopped and searched all the time when I looked like a dirty hippie (and yeah, okay you accidentally pack your Swiss Army knife in your makeup case in your carry on ONE TIME and then you get searched forever. But dammit, I was hiking in the alps). And there was a brief period of time there where I got searched every time because TSA agents didn’t know what binders were? That seems to have been solved, maybe there was some sort of boobie-related training sometime recently. So now, with my jacket and tie, I get pre-checked all the time. As in, no need to take your shoes off, no need to take your belt off, no need to take your computer out. Just gonna test your hands for chemicals or whatever it is that they’re testing for, and then go straight on through. Ah yes, the world is full of assholes who judge you by your clothes and presentation and it doesn’t hurt that I’m white. But there you have it, major advantage. The second advantage is that other passengers take me more seriously. This works especially on all those weird middle aged men we’ve all sat next to who think the only thing you have to do with the five hours you’re in the air is talk to them. But as long as I’m wearing my nice clothes and I look very busy, I can usually get my neighbor to leave me alone enough to read and work. Now when I’m driving or riding in a car, it all goes to hell. I will absolutely look like a slob in a car — my back hurts so much when I drive for long periods of time (and that means anything more than two hours, so). I will put on Harry Potter on audio (Jim Dale version, duh) and yoga pants and just whine until I get there.

The second is the bar car (or airport bar or restaurant). When we were taking trains all over Europe, Renée and I always went to the bar car to grab a drink. Every time. At the time, she had a beer and I had a tea, because I didn’t care for beer (lolololololol). Now, that’s translated into much the same thing — if I’m on a train with a bar car, I go to that bar car and I have a beer. If I’m in an airport and it’s a respectable drinking time, I go have a beer. If it’s not a respectable drinking time (breakfast, for example) I at least go to a restaurant and sit down and have a server bring me something that I can put in my mouth. Because the act of traveling is special. When you travel, you’re literally tracing the exact steps of who-knows-how-many other people. Past, present and future people. How many people go in and out of airports, fly a certain route, take a certain train whose rails haven’t moved since the industrial revolution, driven the same road across the country? How many others and how many histories and stories are you connecting with when you do things like that? It deserves a treat. It deserves a special meal or a social drink, especially if you’re connecting with friends while you’re traveling.

The last travel ritual is something my family has dubbed the Transit Trance. It’s less of a chosen ritual and more of an involuntary one? Basically, if I’m in or on a vehicle of any kind and I’m not driving it, I’m asleep in fifteen minutes. I mean any vehicle. I have immediately and without choice slept on trains, planes, cars, buses and even twice a water taxi in Venice. My family finds this so funny that I have a series of embarrassing pictures of me sleeping on things. Usually my mouth is open and I’m contorted into whatever grotesque position my seat forces me into. I understand that many people would give their right pinky to be able to sleep so soundly and so immediately in transit, so I am sorry to you who must take pills or a few shots to make that happen, but; the Transit Trance is actually really annoying because what if I have shit to do or just wanna, I dunno, be awake for some part of my journey? So part of my travel ritual is either fighting it or not fighting it, depending on how much work I have to do or how bad my jet lag will be if I allow myself to sleep or not during the flight. If I have to write or read something, you will see me with a coffee in my hand AT ALL POINTS during a trip. If I am allowed to give into the Transit Trance, I will drink ginger ale. Ginger ale is the drink of travel. Specifically of flying. I have it almost at no other time.

Maddie, Contributing Editor

This is my free Amtrak Snack Pack that they handed out that time when my train was 3 hours delayed before it even left Chicago. I ate it while reading For Love or Money by Sarah Jaffe and Melissa Gira Grant, which is BRILLIANT.

I avoid plane travel as often as possible, and thus, I have spent many hours on Amtrak, some trips over the course of several days. It’s true that sleeper cars exist on Amtrak, but DAMN THEY ARE EXPENSIVE. The price of a ticket in Amtrak’s coach car is usually on-par with, if not cheaper than, flying, so if you don’t have a couple hundred extra bucks to drop on a train bed, you’ll probably find yourself in the coach car.

Here’s the thing, though — Amtrak coach is pretty damn nice! Seats are spacious. Leg room abounds. They recline, and they have leg and foot rests. You don’t get to be completely horizontal, and you might be beside a stranger, but if you don’t like that stranger, you can probably move your seat, or at least go to the cafe car and sit at one of their tables for most of the trip. You can also bring your own food, and have your own liquids and generally keep your bags with you. Sometimes, if you are delayed, Amtrak will even give you a snack and be extremely apologetic about the whole thing. Most importantly, Amtrak coach never requires you to be suspended in midair by some incomprehensible but apparently reliable law of physics.

For me, a good night’s sleep on Amtrak requires advance preparation, so I can eventually go through the motions of getting ready for bed, and then sort of tuck myself in. The first step comes at the packing stage, when I make sure to bring my sleeping bag, a sweatshirt and my basic toiletries in a bag that I will be able to keep at my feet. Then at boarding time, I do whatever I can to get a window seat. This way, later I can kind of cuddle myself into the side of the train and pretend I’m alone with the passing landscape and/or freight trains.

I intentionally don’t try to sleep during daylight hours while on a train, because that messes with my sleeping patterns. Instead, I wait until a bedtime-esque hour, and then I brush my teeth (generally I get off the train and use the water from my water bottle. It’s not the most dainty method, but it feels nicer than using the train bathroom sink) and take out my contacts. Then I take off my shoes, zip myself into my sleeping bag, fully recline, scrunch up my sweatshirt to use as a pillow, and cuddle into the window. All this plus the comforting motion of a train, and that’s a full night’s sleep.

Riese, Editor-in-Chief

I have extreme packing anxiety. EXTREME. Even thinking about thinking about packing gives me anxiety because nothing NOTHING is worse than being in a place and wishing I had a thing that I left at home. Wait — there is one thing worse than that feeling, and it’s knowing that I am a person who will have that feeling, a feeling which I consider to be evidence of my overall failures as a person; like being uptight and superficial and unable to “go with the flow.” It’s like I have to bring my entire wardrobe just to be sure I have that one outfit that — let’s be real — I’m gonna wear every single day. The problem is that I don’t know who I am, and every time I go somewhere, I change my mind about who I am, and there’s no way to predict which black tank top that mystery person will want to wear!

So my first ritual is being really stressed out for about two days pre-trip, especially if I’m flying, because then I feel like I have no control over my life. Okay, let’s be honest: that’s not a ritual.

I mean maybe I don’t have any travel rituals because every trip I try something new, some new way to make traveling less anxiety-inducing. There are very few constants, besides various ritualistic uncertainties. Like that one terminal in SFO where I go to the same three stores over and over balancing the costs/benefits of various snack options before ultimately getting nothing because it’s time to board. Like changing my mind 86 times about whether I should put my phone in my backpack or my blue canvas bag or whether or not it’s safe to put my boarding pass in my back pocket. Like that I will always, always, always, forget where I put my boarding pass at least three times between check-in and boarding. Like that I will always find a way to almost miss my plane when I’m flying out of JFK.

I wear baggy jeans or sweatpants, my Puma boots that are easy to slip off, and this one grey t-shirt that’s super comfortable and looks awful on me. I used to wear this teal shirt that looked even worse on me, but then it got these weird stains on it.

I hate plane smells. I bring hand sanitizer, scented lotion, travel-sized perfume, travel-sized Febreze, wisps, gum, a toothbrush and toothpaste. The clothes I wear on the plane cannot be worn again during the trip. They must be set aside and never touched again until I re-board.

I can’t sleep on planes. Instead, I read. I read and read and read and read. I load up my iPad with articles and read ’til I can’t read anymore at which point I’ll do a crossword puzzle. I always also bring a journal in case I have an important feeling, all my medications in case my luggage ends up in Dubai or in a fiery pit at the bottom of the ocean, my laptop for the same reason, a water bottle, gum (to chew during take-off), and a book I should read but don’t really want to read that I might read if I’m trapped in a death chamber in the sky with nothing else to do.

Depending on the length of the flight, my fibromyalgia will kick in an hour or a few hours before landing, at which point I’ll begin rotating between doing mini-stretches in my seat, reading and vigilantly monitoring the plane’s progress on those little monitors everybody else uses to watch movies or television. Is that a ritual or a mental problem? I’m not sure.

I never recline. I feel like it’s mean and if I never recline, someday somebody sitting in front of me won’t recline either, and that’s when I’ll know the universe is on my side.

Oh, but there is this one thing: tomato juice. With ice, obviously. Every time. Never on land, always in the sky. It’s practically food!

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