You Ought To Live In An Airport

It used to irritate me when older people would say things like I forgot I am not 20 anymore and then I reached an age where I began to understand how and why that happened.

It is because I would hit days like today where I’d wake up in a different timezone than the one I started in and roll out of bed grumbling about the pile of laundry that was waiting and irked that I hadn’t stayed up to unpack all my gear.

Grumbling because I have told the kids a million times that it is easier to stay up after a party to clean up than to wait for the next day and yet I hadn’t taken my own advice.

But by the time I was ready to think about it was after 11 in the new time zone except my body thought it was somewhere closer to 2 am and I hadn’t eaten dinner and food wasn’t a request, it was a demand.

Having known this would happen I had stopped on the way and picked up a greasy cheese steak sandwich that was going to taste wonderful, even though the next morning I knew it would be less enjoyable.

So I enjoyed my grub and did a little more than the bare minimum and threw clothes in a hamper, hung up a suit and placed my toiletries on the bathroom counter.

You Ought To Live In An Airport

I have a love/hate relationship with traveling.

I love going and seeing new places and enjoying new experiences, but I tend to hate to do the stuff that gets me to wherever I am going.

Packing my stuff is never fun, especially when I have to be prepared for multiple functions and the joy of going through security and sitting in a seat that is never quite big enough is a pleasure that I enjoy only because I know it will provide more fodder for writing.

Don’t tell the kids that when I tell them we do somethings because we have to do them it is with gritted teeth and an edge to my voice because with them it is usually a smile on my face and voice.

Confession: I know I don’t always have a poker face and that they may have caught on to my not always being a happy participant in these things but they also know dad does what has to be done because that is just how life is sometimes.

It is well before 8 AM and I am seated in a terminal in Los Angeles waiting for the agent to tell us it is time to board and watching the people walk by.

Airports are famous for being great spots for people watching and today is no exception. There have been businessmen, honeymooners, celebrities and people who look so familiar I can’t figure out if I know them or if they are almost celebrities.

Twenty-five minutes before we are supposed to begin boarding there is a rumble in my belly that makes me roll my eyes, nature can’t decide if it is issuing a call-to-order and the timing is perfect.

This is the primary reason I don’t like flying much, this flip-flop thing the stomach does and I am determined to beat it back by force of will.

A series of silent curses and a promise to get even with the parts of the body that are declaring mutiny are issued but the rumble doesn’t disappear.

I close my eyes to concentrate and think if my life was a movie this would be the time my Jedi Master or monk on the mountain top would tell me that to win this battle you ought to live in an airport.

But there is no Jedi Master nor monk, just me the guy living this life so as I close my eyes I stop wishing that life was different remind myself I am living the life I choose.

Can’t control everything or be in charge of every choice but I got an oar in the water and if it falls out of my hand I am still a pretty good swimmer.

Maybe not as good as I was when I did it competitively in high school, but I still get where I am going.

Back To Reality

Travel is done and the moment for pausing and musing about what has happened has passed so it is time to stop thinking about the pile on the floor and put that crap away.

There is a garage to organize and papers to file and bills that require my attention. These are the things that prove I really am not 20 anymore and though they aren’t much fun the reality is life is better now than it was then, even if I can’t wear the same size jeans as I once did.

I’ll take what I have now over what I had then but still grumble upon occasion that these mystery aches and pains and the weird physical crap of now is a pain-in-the-ass that I didn’t have then.