I wrote this at the airport waiting for my flight home last night…

Maybe it’s the death defying cab ride from my hotel to the airport this afternoon (115 mph on I-95 and lane changes that would make a NASCAR driver proud) that has me thinking about life as I sit in a rocking chair across from a Chick-fil-A at PHL.  But then again, maybe it’s just the airport itself that has this affect on me.  I’m wondering about the stories of each of the people that walk through my view.  Is the young woman heading off on a voyage she’s been dreaming about for months?   Is the gentleman in the orange sweater leaving or returning to a lover?

I think airports are a portal to deeper thinking about one’s life.   I know of no one who has set foot in one who hasn’t thought of the opportunities waiting for them or dreaded an inevitability at the other end.  Airports are places where your mind can wander uninhibited into the brighter or darker places within yourself.  The time before or between flights is a sort of artificial suspension of your life.  You’re trapped between your origin and where you are headed – physically and spiritually.  In that space, the mind is freed to explore.

Though I have a ravenous traveling soul, in a near empty airport tonight, I’m longing to be back home, in my bed, next to the woman I love.


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