I love going to airports. To many, airports are a heartless place where one is stuck during an excruciatingly long layover or flight delay. To me, they are far from heartless.
The walls of an airport hear the sorrowful tears of a goodbye and the glowing tears of a long-awaited hello.
The floors of an airport feel the electrified feet of a child on the way to Disneyland and the anxious feet of a college student returning to her parents’ embrace.
The purposeful minds of the soon-to-be passengers will all have an interesting story to tell. After all, one does not tend to simply go to an airport on a free Sunday afternoon. These soon-to-be passengers carry their pain or excitement, whichever has caused their fate of being here, while witnessing first-hand the pain and excitement radiating from everyone else around.
For those of us who are constant travelers, airports start to feel like home. With the lack of the conventional definition of a stable home, airports are sense of normality. Airports are predictable. One city map after another, one new acquaintance after another, change becomes the normal. In this instance, the normal becomes refreshingly reliable.
Above all, airports are a thrill. It may not be a stimulating new mountain to hike or town to explore, but it is a place of anticipation for the exciting unknown or desired known. An airport means a relaxing place to rest while the next adventure quickly approaches. And one just can’t contain the laughter triggered by a new adventure that is about to adjust their perspective on life.