I’m sitting on the floor in the Houston airport
enduring a lay over. Yes, since I last wrote, I moved to Texas. Texas, by the
way, and specifically, Austin, is splendid.
It is perfect for right now and I imagine for another year or so. Off to
where next? I do not know. But I do like thinking about it.
I spent the flight from Austin to Houston thinking
of how much I love airports. Thinking, I love the way they smell; the air is
always cold, the faint whiff of sunscreen that hangs around regardless of
season or city, the freshly baked glutens that I cannot have but yet I crave,
the men in business suits whom I’ve always had desires to ask to see what’s in
their briefcases (back to this in a second), the magazines and books that
convince me they are more relevant and riveting than the book in my bag, and my
favorite, the newspaper stands.
The men in suits. The individuals about whom I have
remained most curious- conveying a sense of urgency and utmost importance but
with such calm demeanor. As if, they could be called to action at any moment
but possess such confidence in their competence, that such concern is none of
theirs. The contents of their briefcases must reveal clues.
To have taken such a strong liking to an idea, a
concept, a person, or place, there surely must be a more deeply rooted innate
desire that has been satisfied to an extent.. After much mulling, I think I
have finally placed my finger on it.
It is the
sense of purpose that airports portray. It is that one place where everyone is
in motion, everyone knows the next step, the next few hours of their day. So
much is already decided. But yet, we all still expect the unexpected. No one
seems stuck, everyone is moving forward. Everyone is fulfilling something.
Purpose and fulfillment are two are my “things”. Things I will always be bound
to and drawn to understanding.
