My first flight was just under 8
hours of flying over the Atlantic
alone, but I was surprisingly
unafraid. Really, I was just happy to
let someone else push and pull my
overpacked, six months of life and
meds, suitcase. Let them bruise 
and blister their hands instead. 
 
But what somehow truly calmed me
was stepping into the tunnel
between the airport and the plane. 
 
Maybe there's a real name for it,
but I don't know it if there is. But I 
know that I knew nothing would 
ever again be the same. I know that
those steps were the first of my 
adventure. These were the first 
moments where I could think of
anything besides where I had to lug
myself to next. Finally, it was follow
the crowd, find your seat, accept a 
plastic cup of sparkling wine, be
glad you parked yourself against a 
window to see the lights of New
York City pass you by. 
 
The Holland Tunnel terrifies me. I
have a deep-down fear of the 
Wonka boat tunnel to hell. But this
tunnel was different, and even if it 
still led me to hell, I could still say
that I did it. And as the wheels hit
ground over fields of quilts, I
promised myself a bar of chocolate. 
It helps.
Juliette Sebock is the author of Mistakes Were Made and has work forthcoming or appearing in a wide variety of publications. She is the founding editor of Nightingale & Sparrow and runs a lifestyle blog, For the Sake of Good Taste. When she isn't writing (and sometimes when she is), she can be found with a cup of coffee and her cat, Fitz. Juliette can be reached on her website or across social media.

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