Airport Letters

Happy New Year! It's been a while since I last wrote. I'm currently at the airport now, waiting for my flight.

I am an airport person.

My very nickname suits the lifestyle that my family and I have had since I was one - jetting across the skies twice, four times a year, more so if we plan a trip someplace Pop can't drive to.

As a child, you are terrified of change, of the unknown. Your sense of space makes you wonder why you have to leave into the unknown. And yet, once you get to your location, you slowly become acquainted with it, even fond of it.

And the moment you grow older, your heart becomes stone cold to those weary eyes, tears shed, airport protocol, and all the baggage that comes with being in transit. 21 years of this, and you are so used to the ways that you become one with the baggage scanner: a machine that just goes through the motions.

But you love airports anyway. The promise of a new land, of a new place, of new people brings thrill. The moment you land in a new airport, you feel like a new person. Inhaling in the new cabin air, eating airplane food, listening to in-flight announcements in different languages - how can you not feel the change?

When it's time to come back though, you feel the dread. You feel a little bit of you shedding away as you enter the departure area. How do airports manage to be the gateway and the last frontier at the same time? 

Maybe the next time I'm in an airport, I'll learn why. But for now, I'll continue to be one of the tens of thousands of people always in transit, waiting for our turn to depart and to land.