On Airports (and Anticipation)
I walk around the airport like I know better than everyone else.
Which is simply wrong.
Despite the fact that, yes, I’ve gotten quite comfortable this year.
I walk around the airport like I know better than everyone else.
Which, for the girl in a long, black, sort-of-stylish winter coat schlepping two brightly colored backpacks and rocking a duct taped Doc Marten?
Kind of hilarious.
I am not the put-together airport type. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a great packer. Extremely organized. I know where everything is. And I’m never late. But when someone rolls up to the gate with one mid-size designer purse, a blowout, and a full face of makeup… we’re not friends.
But who knows? Maybe this will be me one day in the future. And I’ll look at that twenty-something shouldering a brightly colored backpack with admiration, and hopefully, a bit of envy.
If I project a level of arrogance, I do apologize. I’m just happy to be here. I’m comfortable.
And I don’t even like the airport that much.
Coming to you live from Newark Liberty International Airport Terminal B. A duly deserved renovation.
Am I excited to be here?
That is the question.
I’m certainly less excited about being here than I am about getting to where I’m going on.
But I’m not miserable. I don’t hate the airport like some people do. I don’t hate the TSA — I genuinely feel bad for them. I don’t hate the price of food — I simply don’t look at it. (Layovers don’t count.)
I don’t love it either.
People who say they love the airport are lying.
It’s the idea of where you’re flying.
—
The airport is a place of anticipation.
The good and the bad.
The dreamt-of destination. The endless lines. It’s all about waiting. As a child, I was so impatient, and this waiting used to drive me nuts. Now — slightly less impatient — I obtain from this airport anticipation an odd brand of pleasurable anxiety.
The airport is a textbook example of a liminal space. You are neither here nor there. You are on your way. Not where you once were, but also not yet where you’re going to be. You are in between.
That is, unless you are an employee. Then you’re at work.
—
Anticipation itself can be seen as good or bad, depending on how it’s viewed.
Take, for example, the idea of an “airport crush”.
You’re at the gate. You look up from your phone to see someone very attractive just a few feet away. You lock eyes. You quickly look away, blushing. Before you know it, your mind is running wild with anticipation. Will they come over and say something? Will we be seated next to each other? Will they ask for my number? Maybe plan a date for when we arrive at our mutual destination? What if we get married? Yes. Then I’ll finally be able to get an EU passport!
You know, shit like that.
This is nice, because you get to daydream for a while about a purely hypothetical romance that will probably never be.
This is also not so nice, because you get to daydream for a while about a purely hypothetical romance that will probably never be.
Two sides of the same coin. The joy of romanticization. The pitfall of coming back down to earth.
It is similar to what I’ve written about the nature of expectation. Having expectations may lead to severe disappointment. And yet… what is life without something to look forward to? I argue that it is better to have positive expectations and be let down than to never expect anything good at all.
Or at least, find a happy medium.
—
Recently, someone told me an anecdote about their mother. (There is a 0.1% chance you read this, but if you are? Call me.)
Their mother — recently passed — was fond of saying: “Never run in an airport.”
And I just love that.
The sentiment is: you have to accept where you are in the current moment. Like, if you’re running late and miss a flight? Maybe it was supposed to happen. Maybe that first flight gets diverted due to weather or technical difficulties and you miss your best friend’s destination wedding. Or, that airport crush you meet in line for Starbucks while waiting for the second flight? Maybe you end up married.
Ridiculous? Pure fantasy? Maybe. Like, if my gate were closing would I be taking a leisurely stroll instead of full throttle sprinting? Probably not, no.
But the sentiment? Yes. Sue me.
I like the idea that we are exactly where we’re meant to be.
Never run in an airport.
ONWARDS,
Mag