Airports are a beautiful experience…just not when you’re hungover.
If you think about it, an airport is really the only place you will never see any of these people in the same space again. You will never again see that exasperated mother with her disobedient children in tow. You will never again watch that family run down the aisle trying to make their flight. You will never again experience that flight attendant’s exhilarating smile or the man buried in a book with his headphones blasting music. Or the diligent businesswoman type-type-typing on her laptop. Or the sweet older bartender who proudly explains how she has been working in the airport for twenty-plus years.
An airport is the only place where you get a first-class seat to take a peek into other people’s lives.
I always find myself wondering…who is this person? What do they do? Who is waiting for them on the other end of that terminal? What is their story? And the most common thought…why are they here?
As I sit in my terminal awaiting departure, I observe these people and their actions. And I realize…airports can be a truly beautiful experience…even if you ARE hungover.
This has been my 10th flight in the past 10 months. My 10th time sitting next to a man who reeks of onions and desperation. My 10th time visiting a different place other than Florida. My 10th time not knowing what to expect when I land. As I sit in the scoliosis-inducing airport chair awaiting my never-ending delay of flights, I cannot help but feel happiness.
Even with the pounding headache, dehydration, alcohol withdrawal, the screaming children beside me that I always manage to get stuck next to, and my mental and physical exhaustion, I can’t help but smile. This is what makes me feel alive.
Someone once told me to find whatever sets your soul on fire and do everything in your power to keep doing it. Regardless of my obvious hangover, I wouldn’t change a thing about my situation… I’ll simply just start planning the next trip.
I fantasize weeks before a new trip begins. I live for packing my bags and jetting off to the airport. I get high off the adrenaline of not knowing if I’m going to make my flight or not. I actually love airport food and crave sitting alone at a bar with a beer and a ridiculously expensive cheeseburger. I enjoy stepping off the airplane into a new place where I know no one…and I am no one…and I can simply just be.
I’m soaring. Mentally and (hopefully) physically once this damn plane arrives.
So I challenge you to question yourself…what makes you feel alive? And why aren’t you doing it?
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