Taking the ferry from the Olympic Peninsula to Seattle.

Boarding – the rush of movement – the air turns to blustery rapids as people walk-run through the tight tunnel. They reach the opening and spread out with a deliberate sense of direction; stubbornly trying to strike a semblance of individuality within public transit. They plop down on seats (eerily reminiscent of school bus pews) to either stare with dead eyes at the grey water passing underneath them, or lie down in a semi-comatose nap.

Whenever I travel on the ferry I get a rush of anxiety and anticipation because it usually means I’m going on a long trip.

Not today. Today is a field trip for my work. I couldn’t be less excited.

Looking out at the clouds hemming us in, I make a promise to myself that the next time I get on this thing it will be because I’ll be headed somewhere spontaneous and dangerous.