Thoughts From An Airport

I’m flying back to Atlanta from Houston today, camped out in a corner of the Houston-Hobby airport working while planes take off in front of me. An airport is a universe of it’s own. It doesn’t feel like any place in particular. You’re surrounded by people from all over the country and all around the world.

Even though you are surrounded by people, it’s still quite a lonely place. No one talks to each other. We all sit in complicit agreement that we will be silent and simply try to get through this experience. There is no sense of enjoyment in an airport, no sense of pleasure. I am sitting here this morning looking out on the runway, drenched in sunshine and admiring the industrial beauty of the place.

When you are a child a sense of excitement and curiosity is expected regarding airports. There are illustrated books talking about the equipment and all the people who make the airport work. A child is expected to press their nose against the glass and observe the airport personnel closely. That’s suspicious behavior for an adult though. We are expected to be uninterested in our surroundings. To keep our heads down and just get though.

Even though an airport is good people-watching, it’s a place where we are supposed to be uninterested, and therefore become uninteresting. It’s really quite a shame that this place of transition, where we should be our most interesting (where are we going? where are we from? why are we traveling?) we are dampered, quiet and isolated.

Traveling used to be considered momentous with family members to see you off and charms, amulets and blessings to see you safe on your way. Traveling used to be more human. This airport is nice. It’s comfortable with outlets, WiFi, clean restrooms, shops and restaurants. Yet it’s not human. It’s not warm. It’s not holy. Maybe the fault is in my perspective, but as I stare out on the sun-drenched runways I feel a sadness here. An unlovedness for this place. That worries me.