It is with a full heart that I sit once again on a plane. I start to think that I fly frequently, but then realize that the suits with whom I share elbow space put me and my meager frequent flier miles to shame. Nonetheless it all feels fairly routine. On the surface anyway. Pack my bags and leave school, check bags, remove shoes and computer from its case, takeoff, cruising altitude, land, layover, final destination. Hugs, food, talks, walks, friends. Lather, rinse repeat. I return to my departure city grateful to have friends who welcome me and embrace me into their lives and locations, but sad that everyone only seems to be moving farther and farther apart. “Just a plane ride away,” is only temporarily comforting.
I love airports. The entire range of human emotion, experience, culture. If you want to see the American Idealogue’s “Melting Pot” meander around the airport. Stuffed with stories of hellos, goodbyes, anxieties, excitements, newness, familiarity, frustration and comfort. Today I saw, what I assume is mother and daughter, or perhaps aunt and niece, embracing. Obvious they had been in that clutch for a while already, they looked anything but ready to release for the final farewell. I turned around in the security line to overhear a young woman comment about the ridiculousness of having to buy three plane tickets in one day. I feel lucky for early arrivals, and a final flight that is barely full where I can enjoy some leg room and practically lay across an entire aisle of seats. Now if only I can get my sinuses to quit attacking me in high altitudes.
Enough with these books that only shove me towards more airports. Eat Pray Love makes me feel lazy for not taking advantage of life and energy and travel. She begins in Rome and eats her way through Italy (I can think of little that sounds more enjoyable than Italian cheeses, pastas, wine and chocolate), then moves on to an Indian Ashram. I’m in the beginning sections of her Indian spiritual excursion. Next is Indonesia. What have I been doing racking up my frequent flier miles traveling back and forth to the same places. Stuff a backpack, hop a plane and explore.
Lisa and I were talking about how sometimes having too many options is harder than feeling limited by only a few. To have so many different directions, locations, vocations to take with life and not necessarily seeing any as overly superior to the others. It’s overwhelming and exciting to have so many options and the freedom to choose. But sometimes I feel a little tired of the freedom. I don’t want to be overwhelmed with the freedom of choice being young and single affords. Wouldn’t it be nice to choose with whom and go from there? Just take me along for the ride. Just make sure they have good food and better coffee.
(I’ve put up some pictures on flickr (those are the ones from Dave & Lisa), and am working on getting mine from camera to computer, and computer to internet)