Traveling to a brand-new city. A little bit terrifying, a little bit scary, both in a good way. The adventurous way. The “anything/something exciting might/is going to happen today” way. Not the “I’ve got to travel to a remote South American town to save my sister from a drug cartel and I hope I don’t get lost in Cartegena because I’ve only got these heels to wear, and they’re Italian, you see” way.
I
love airports. I find them exciting. I love airplanes. Planes are
literally bursting with every emotion imaginable, every second of
flight, even when people are sleeping and dreaming. It makes me think of
all the joy, happiness, frights, sadness, elation, satisfaction and
anticipation carried within those tens of thousands of people all those
millions of miles. What if you made a heat map of that, what would it look like, I wonder?
Where are you going? Why are you going? What are you going to do when you get there? Or are you going home? What have you been doing? What was your favorite color on this trip? If you could give your trip a color, what would it be?
Are you scared? You look scared. Is it the flying? She looks thrilled. He looks bored. That woman looks busy- she’s not even paying attention to what’s outside her window. Why’d she choose a window, then?
How come my headphones don’t work? Why can’t I hear what’s going on in the cockpit? Those people are talking...they’ve hit it off. That guy really, really wants to talk to his seatmate. She’s not having it. No wait, my mistake, she is. She just smiled at him and I swear he melted right into his seat. I think I melted a little, too. She’s very pretty. I think it’s her eyes. Yes, according to her seatmate, it’s her eyes. Big and wide. He can’t stop staring at them, even when she blushes and looks away.
Let's sit here.
I love to drink whiskey on a plane. I’m going to take a picture when we are landing but I’ll be sneaky about it so that no one sees. Those pictures are unreal and surreal. Which is which? Can it be both? None of it looks real and for a good while I’m tempted to slip out the window and have a tea party on those clouds. Every time.
Flying is all about anticipation. It’s all “something is about to start,” tossed in with “who are these people with whom I've entrusted my life. Man, they seem cranky....oh my god, are they paid enough, I wonder?” and sprinkled with a healthy “Holy shit, I’m fucking FLYING!”
I always like the journey more. People say, when they’re trying to make a point, trying to make you feel better about messing something up or trying to get you to slow the shit down, that it’s the journey that’s important. But I’ve always liked the journey more. I like the anticipation. I like to imagine what the result will be. Sometimes it’s the same, sometimes it’s not. If I like the journey more, what does that mean? I think it means I like to travel. That’s all.
