There are a million and a half things to wonder about when you arrive at an airport two to three hours early(yes, thank you to my father, not the tsa, for this trait).
Do stewardesses have to take turns and work the desks?
Why is it so much easier for men to talk to each other? Or is it just me, that i can’t talk to strangers? I don’t think its me? Is it the shared subjects, sports, weather, man stuff?
There could be some good done in the world if we were all forced to hang out in airports once in a while. I mean, the humanity. Yes, too, the priviledge and the money-spent hanging in invisible numbers above each person’s head.
But the tremendous variety in people. Saw a daughter guiding her mother through the security checkpoints. mom, with no english, tiny and wrapped in a beautiful sari. The guards were kind and accomodating, while still doing their job.
Why would anyone ever do dip? Why? And why after the first time, a second time? Whats that about? You love the drool feeling?
Couples of color separated by a guard, for a ’check’. The resigned, the terror right below that, of anything that could happen.
I’m watching moms chase kids, some with partners, some organized to the very tips of their toes, some just kind of winging it with the help of a partner. ALthough, honestly, I bet there is no ’winging it’ in airports anymore. Maybe not even in parenting. The times, they have changed.
Whats up with bringing dogs?
I sit here and miss my kids. Even while i am completely aware of how i’ve settled into another stage in my life, just like that. I’m walking through an airport and into a trip just for myself, just like that.
There is something big in it, in this small trip.
The work is still there, the flurry of childcare and job restructure, it is there.
Why haven’t i felt like a grownup til now? I’m freaking 48, you know. I wonder what the real name for this feeling is. I miss my kids, yes, but they’re fine. its all fine. and i am here for a long weekend, in this surreal travel spot.