This state of nowhere and anywhere.
This is what airports are like. That’s maybe why people tend to feel so tired and excited as soon as they step foot in them.
I like this feeling of awaiting. Not knowing what to expect and not having to worry about who I am supposed to be.
I like the kindness of a stranger worried that there wasn’t any toilet paper and passing some without me even asking for it. She didn’t even wonder whether I was worth of her help. She just did it.
For these people I could be anyone. For myself, I can take a break.
But also, I wonder… Aren’t we always at an airport everyday? Isn’t everyday a new beginning?
Can it not be?
Maybe. Perhaps. I guess we are too busy doing. Fitting in our own mold we created. Because possibility is scary. It’s always been.
So why do I feel like I belong to this airport? Why do I feel like I can rest here?
I spent my life trying to fit in. Trying to be something I thought I should be. And now I just want to embrace life. To feel. To experience. To see. To crave. To live. To just be.
Without pretending. Without pleasing.
I want to find the right rhythm. I want to the play the song I never allowed myself to play.
What would happen if I just experienced life without trying to control it? What would happen if I let go of expectations?
I think it could be good. Let’s open this door and wait.
Back
—
And now I am flying back. Feeling fuller. More hopeful.
I want to never let go of this feeling. I want to grab onto it and somehow imprint it in my brain every time I get a negative thought. I just want to staple it there. Glue it. Chain it tightly!
But I know how it goes. I know how testing life can be.
So I aim to keep it safe. Somewhere. A place that I can access in the darkest of times.
I know a voice will rescue me in the time of need. Even if I am not willing to really hear it.
I know this voice will tell me to strike up a conversation with a stranger on the plane, as I am starting to feel nostalgic and down.
Something I would never have done in the past. Never. Now it’s almost normal. Introverts can be sociable beings too.
She is a teacher like me. She understands my challenges. She has that empathetic look. Her flowery summery shirt and colourful bracelet puts you at ease. She gives me advice. I love teachers who share. Who try to guide you. To find the answer.
And did I find my answers?
Some. Perhaps. I learned that there’s too much beauty that you can drown in it. You can literally become completely overwhelmed that you get a break from your own self sabotaging behaviours.
You learn that there is still room to be hopeful. That each day can be different. That the sadness will still be there, but you will be able to experience other feelings too.
You never know who you will meet and how this will shape your life in maybe 10 years time. You don’t know which piece of the puzzle they are giving you. But you know that like them, you are completing your endless puzzle, somehow.
You learn that it is better to check the reviews on the Airbnb very carefully to see if someone mentioned a stone made mattress. Doing that will save you from unwanted back pain and a bad mood in the morning, which you will have to counterbalance with some tasty food and a lot of walking around to stretch.
You learn that other people feel lost too. They fly from America to Europe because they feel stuck. And you can see they are nervous and fidgeting. Trying to stay calm and cheerful. But they would scream, if they could. You would like to tell them that they are allowed to scream if they wanted to. To cry.
You can see their pain through their eyes and would like to give them a hug. But you know that this might be too much. Also, you are shy after all and you have just met. So you just listen. You fight your own tiredness because after all, you know you are an introvert. You try to give them probably unwanted advice. You would like to know what would be the best thing to say. What actually would be beneficial for them. But you don’t really know them, so you tell them you have been there. But you don’t mention all the crying and sleepless nights. The years of struggle. The years… All the times you thought it was never getting better. All the shame. The guilt. The desperation. All the years trying different therapies. So many. All the numbness. That would be over sharing of course and It’s not something you do in a lovely trendy bar with turquoise walls. But you see the irony of it. The contrast in your mind. The facade that we all have to put up some time. So you just keep a polite smile and keep listening. And you wonder. Will he find what he is looking for? You hope he will, eventually. You hope he will find his dreams. He goes for some food. Food always helps. Better than a cup of tea, I guess. Especially if it’s Spanish or Italian food.
So moral of the story (for now): nothing will heal you completely. But it’s still worth to fight. Because you really don’t know what could happen. You don’t know that someone you met the night before will wish you to have a nice flight in the morning. You can’t know that thanks to the random seat allocators, you will sit next to a lovely teacher who also likes reading in the original language. You can’t know that instead of having a panic attack on the plane, you will actually enjoy it. You can’t know that you will finally be able to focus on a book that you like and laugh at some funny jokes. You can’t know that you will still smile despite everything. Even if it’s for a brief moment. A moment that is worth waiting for.
Because you have intrisinc value and no one, literally no one ever, can take this away from you.
Ever.
It’s always there waiting for you to recognise it again. To say “hi”. To say “thank you for waiting for me while I was gone. I am back now”.
Found in thoughts 