Tears of happiness

On Thursday I cried three times. What a way to introduce myself, I know, but there's a point to my personal revelation.

The first time I cried was on my flight from Phoenix to Dallas. Upon descending, my ears popped so hard I thought my brain was going to explode and come out through them. See, I've had a cold for the past few days. It's more of an inferno than a cold, but whatever. I also had a wisdom tooth pulled last week, so the mixture of antibiotics and pain relievers has made me a mess.

On the plane, as I felt the excruciating pain of my head exploding inside my face, a billion thoughts ran through my mind. Specifically, I wondered if coming to D.C., despite it being the highlight of the past year or so, was worth the pain I felt, which at several points caused me to forget how to breathe. I'm not exaggerating (as a journalist, I know I don't get that leeway) when I say it HURT. So I cried.

Same thing from Dallas to DC. To make matters worse, I lost about 50 percent of my hearing and am still waiting for it to make at least a cameo.

And then, I met the incredible people at our reception tonight. I heard them talk and remembered all the reasons why I am so passionately in love with journalism that I have eyes for no one else (except my gorgeous nephew). I would go through that pain again to be here.

The third time I cried? Well, it wasn't so much a cry as it was a welling up of my tired eyes. I stepped outside on the balcony and saw the Capitol of the United States. It was in front of me. Not on TV. In front of me. And this time, the tear duct exercise was that of pure happiness.