World Series, Volume One: In Flight

Airports make my heart flutter, make my skin tingle. There is so much hidden potential, possibility, inside this hub of travelers. 

Inside of an airport, there are countless souls with varied spans of life lived, things experienced. You undoubtedly see an elderly couple glide through at a snail’s pace; there’s always, no matter how strongly you hope against it, a baby’s cry in the vicinity. Some are going, and some are coming home. Some are blissfully reuniting, while others bid tearful farewells surrounded by a million onlookers! They couldn’t care less. 

When I say possibility, I don’t only mean due to the destinations. Yes, individuals and families and couples and travelers can have come from anywhere in the world, or are likely headed to a city - country even - that we rarely give any thought to in any given month, year of our lives. It’s also the lives within these people: The endless possibility of career backgrounds, levels of education, family compositions, and life experiences that comprise the population of an international airport can barely be imagined.

Tonight, I was only strolling through the two-terminal wide, local airport named after entertainer Bob Hope, in Burbank, California. I parked in an industrial lot beneath a smoggy LA sunset, where I’ll be charged $10 per night that I leave my Honda there. I took a quick shuttle ride to the airport, upon which I met a lovely middle-aged couple last time I rode it, who were curious to hear the story of which best friend was summoning me to Scottsdale, Arizona. Tonight, I stood behind three ladies in the line for security who reminded me briefly, and fondly, of my three other best friends who I’m en route to see this weekend. They chattered of gel manicures and iPhone cases, donned matching leather boots. As it turns out, they were on their way to serve as bridesmaids for their fourth soulmate… and while I missed this milestone of Breanna’s due to living overseas that summer of her nuptials, I glimpsed some combination of Bre, Jenna, Britt or I embarking on a similar trip someday in the future. 

Traveling brings friends and strangers together, and confines individuals (and world travelers such as myself) to independence and the perfect form of loneliness, as John Mayer dubbed it. With nothing to do and nowhere to be, sometimes exploring a new city or new side of the world on one’s own even for part of a day can transform the perspective one has on how the ideal life should be lived. Just look at my sister! She’s as far away as could possibly be on her first adventure aboard, and she’s taking on a career milestone as well as personal journey and travel-related one in a country and society that’s relatable yet vastly different from our own. From my trips of that nature, in Hong Kong and in Europe and in Sydney and in Singapore, I found joy in discovering the commonality embedded in humanity just by making small talk with individuals around the neighborhood. 

I also love being in flight. As you traverse a vast amount of space - an amount that would be unfathomable on foot and strenuous even by car - you are suspended in time. Even if only temporarily, be it en route to Sydney for ten hours or to San Jose for one, only you and whatever dreams you choose to carry with move forward. You can leave behind any baggage you don’t need; you can embark on any journey that you wish would commence, emotional or literal. 

I think “Almost Lover” by A Fine Frenzy was poised on my iPhone’s minimal music library for tonight's flight in preparation for this moment. She acknowledges the past, the words said and future promised. She croons, vulnerably, that she can’t do certain things or go to special places without remembering those moments. That will be unavoidable, but those will also fade with time. Finally, she says that she’s turned her back on her almost-lover, and recognizes that she should have known. It’s as simple as that. No shame, no regret. As long as something is known as a result of it, it was a learning journey and, thus, worthwhile.

As I complete this short, meaningful trip up the coast of my beloved state of Cali, I finally feel gratitude for the escape it will allow me and the experience that I have gained - and will now let go of. Things and heartbreak happen for a reason; journeys, individuals and relationships come through our lives for a reason - and a season, or a lifetime.  

I have to note a significant coincidence I am encountering as this flight begins it's final decent into the first leg of my girls getaway weekend: San Jose, CA. I iMessaged with my best friend Chelsea until moments before Airplane Mode was enforced, and she permitted me to have a final minute for my tears and then let go. I told her that I once let go of love on the beginning of a long plane ride: to Sydney, in the summer of 2009. She then acknowledged that it would then be provenly possible to do so again. I had a personal realization back then that if I'd never receive forgiveness from the perpetrator of my heartbreak, then all I could do was forgive myself. So I cried, and I did, and I left DA behind in LA as I flew Down Under and embarked on the first transformational experience of my young life as a world traveler.

Tonight, I thought: I'll do the same. After reflecting and crying a bit more and listening to A Fine Frenzy and writing in my digital journal, I picked up my current travel read and laughed: it's In A Sunburnt Country by Bill Bryson... starring the island nation of Australia. Even more meant-to-be were the glimmers of glitter across each page I opened up to, left behind my my Christmas card of a book mark -- sent by none other than Chelsea Hartling. It's like she knew I'd need her. 

I wish only love and hope and strength for all almost-lovers. The same for all world travelers.