55th Edition
Far and away my favorite place to write is at the airport. The busier the better. The constant flow of people shuffling along, eyes glued to smart phones, reconfirming destinations in between phone calls to the office, or to loved ones who just dropped them off or will soon pick them up. The automated announcements about safety and security, repetitive beeps and buzzers, and the low rumble of endless roller bags, all create a comforting white noise, which for some strange reason, produces the perfect environment for creative expression.
Occasionally I run into people I know at the airport. Nothing remarkable about that, but it reminds me that there is a randomness to life and a sense that we are all part of some greater flow. We are all coming from some place and heading toward another. Life in the moment seems lost at the airport. I suspect it is missing in many other places as well, as we race to meet deadlines, schedules, and the next adventure on our bucket list.
There is a great disconnectedness at the airport. People seldom speak to anyone outside of their traveling partners unless they have to. Staring at ubiquitous iPhones, ears plugged with buds, people retreat into their ever-shrinking personal space. Making even momentary eye contact seems unnatural if not invasive.
At my gate way too early, as usual, I like to see how many different logos I can identify on t-shirts, hats and hoodies. There always seems to be a Yankee fan in every airport. Most of the time I’ll also see one or two Syracuse fans and their distinctive orange. People from that part of the country love to travel to places far away from that part of the country, in search of better weather, I suppose.
I pay particular attention to logos on golf shirts, to see if they represent courses I’ve played, and I search for t-shirts from distant lands. Sometimes this habit leaves me sad, as I’ve never played Pebble Beach, nor have I been to Zanzibar.
Sometimes I think about what life would be like without airports, without our insatiable demand for mobility. We rush to wherever we think we need to get to or away from, obsessed with visiting every place that everyone we know has already visited. Reminds me of the line – no one goes there anymore, it’s too crowded.
If instead we lived each day wherever we are, in the moment, not longing to go somewhere else, what would change? Would we engage in more reflection, more meaningful conversations, deeper appreciation of whoever and whatever is close by? Will my life have less meaning if I never get to Zanzibar?
At the very least, I suspect that virtually everyone has something interesting about themselves that they would enjoy sharing. These stories and life experiences aren’t shared because people don’t seem interested. What happens to a world that has lost its curiosity? It becomes disconnected, one gigantic airport crowded with people alone in their personal spaces, mesmerized by their personal devices.
God didn’t make us to be disconnected, but it’s who we have become. It was then I realized that I was part of the problem. I really should stop writing, close my iPad, and go talk to the guy with the Syracuse jersey. See if he remembers The Pearl. Or maybe I should go ask the guy wearing the Zanzibar t-shirt just exactly where that is. Why is it so hard to disconnect from an electronic device and connect on a personal level with someone new?
Some time ago, I wrote a humorous short story that began – There I was sitting alone on a crowded beach…. Where else does that isolation exist today? Is our country becoming a crowded, but lonely place? What would you say if a stranger asked you to tell them one interesting thing about yourself? Would you enjoy that experience or would you call security?
Please help me grow my readership by forwarding this to a friend(s). In the meantime, say tuned for my next newsletter. Thanks
Michael Kayes
*These views are my personal opinions and are not the viewpoints of any company or organization.