The Fence.
when presented with it, sometimes ya just need the proper motivation…
Counting down to a fully, fully righteous start to 2011, I spent the day recalling some of my favorite moments of the winter of 2010, a justly earned adventure on the heels of recovering from a broken bone, broken brain and my erstwhile holiday companion: ye good olde broken heart.
Too many proper adventures start in airport bars (however the truly righteous have origins in gas stations), $8.67 bottles of heineken are a must (when flying, pray for sleep), and serve the right match for excited departures, belabored returns and, in this case, the 2010 Winter Olympics.
There’s nothing quite comparable to the silence found in the din of shuffling footsteps, grinding conveyor gears, whirring golf cart transmissions, dragging skateboard wheels bearing carry-on weight, poorly amplified public address systems and the excited chatter, witless banter and single serving friend drivel that are all standard issue for the solo traveler in American Airports.
Trying to live a full life off the hinges, airports serve as the lines of demarcation between the incessant passion-suck of the monotony of dayjob life and the moment before that all shrieks to a halt and something vastly different happens. There’s an absolute reflection that comes attached to that, an immediate reminder of the last time you sat in your local airport bar before a flight, a reminiscene of the last adventure, a challenge to make the one you are about to start just that much more intense and a distinct measuring stick of all the things that have occurred since the last time you sat here: all the nonsense you had to tolerate between passport stamps and all the good born of it, all under a spotlight.
The mirror-hard, unforgivingly focused light of a spot often bears no mercy as it illuminates all the fickle lies you’ve suffered, all the people that disappointed you, the handful that impressed and the rare dependable that delivered. Thoughts of the amazing old friends you have, old friends you wish you still had, gracious thoughts on how lucky you are to have met the new friends you have now. All the achievements you’ve conquered, weight lifted, miles run, vices shed, goals improved, songs written, stories crafted. All the surprises that made you smile, people you’ve made smile with surprises, the handful of moments so real you still haven’t figured out if they really happened like that or if you just imagined them that way, and then the few things that might have effortlessly held you to your knees forcing the tears whose absolution was likely part of the equation that brought you back to this airport, once again. Possibly.
A straight shot to the heart of darkness, center of passion and id of happiness can pass through your head in the hours counted down between a security checkpoint and walking into a big metal tube weighing tons, designed to travel twenty thousand feet above safety, hopefully touching down, delivering you through the fog and into to the next chapter.
Yeah, there is no other silence like what you find in an airport, none. Its berth is wide and if you are lucky, it can stay with you in waves, through the entire flight. It can stay pressed against your shirt, forcing your pulse to beat in your fingertips, right up to the point to where you see the ground rushing up at you towards the fuselage faster than it ever should as you are halfway into the second verse of that song you always sing to yourself on these routine descents as the gear forces another set of black marks into the blur of a runway. Again.
And it’s on. mind your step. welcome back. watch out for firecrackers to the head, happy new year.
