I love airports. Always have and always will.
There’s something about the bustling and activity that makes you acutely aware of the different lives intersecting yours for brief moments of shared experience. Maybe you’re travelling for fun – a weekend away like my trip today, perhaps – or for work, lugging your laptop with determination to make sure that this time, for once, you’ll do some work on the plane. Every single person checking in alongside you or queuing at the gate has a story and a reason for being there.
I’ve had moments of many feelings in airports: scared shitless anticipation as we set off backpacking around the world, pure joy as we boarded our plane to Italy for our wedding, sadness coming home from honeymoon knowing I had missed my grandfather’s funeral or heading to the UK for my other grandparents’ funeral services, sickness as we flew home with only one hour’s sleep from a night on the beaches of Copacabana. All stories, moments in my life. Memorialised in boarding passes that I used to feverishly hoard in the days pre-Passbook.
I don’t remember the terminals, the luggage, the waiting, but I acutely remember the feelings.
Today’s feelings are excitement, anticipation, glee as I travel to join Simon in London for a last adult weekend away before our big reunion in Qatar this day next month. I feel slightly like a four year old who’s had too many mince pies on Christmas Eve night!
Did I mention I love airports?
Tell me some of your airport stories!
