Airport

At school, my best memories were about imagining what it would be like when I grew up. Lazy summer days were all about putting my feet up on a crude hammock, and dreaming about being on a plane 'outta here.' Across the muddy waters of my boyish imagination lay the steel and concrete spires of NY, London, Singapore. And the airports.

It was always about the airports.

Later on,... I had the chance. Sometimes more than I wished for - perhaps. But sitting in lounges waiting for flights, became one of the fringe benefits of my chosen line of work. I think there's a crazy kind of anonymity in it. Almost like a drug... like being on a perpetual mellow high. And I think any airport grants you that. They do me.

I tend to think it's ot something to do with Holden's answer in Catcher in the rye : always seeking an imaginary view of the world rather than dealing with the complexities and problems of the world I really live in. A brief respite. Call it escapism - I don't care. But maybe it also has something to do with the spirit of an airport: all about meeting and parting, especially parting. We know the quote about parting: All we know of heaven and all we need of hell. But something of that spirit hangs in the air. And I swear it's magical.

Stand by the clear glass lounge-windows and watch a plane taxi on a bright summer day, maybe with the strains of Marvin Gaye wafting from someone's ipod, and air that's redolent of long-lost memories watching your mother making lunch. Everything that's pristine, timeless, and healing. And as the plane takes off, your heart expands and almost lifts with it. The best part - you can only imagine where it's going. Like you. Like any one of us. Our destiny is like that plane.

Have you ever felt it?