![]() I may know where they came from and where they’re going, but I’ll never understand how they changed between their arrival and departure.Īirports also offer a lot of time for reflection, a way to waste time before stepping onto a flying human invention and stepping off into a city or state or country thousands of miles away. Most of all, as I watch new beginnings and bittersweet endings, hellos and goodbyes unravel before my eyes, I like that I can only guess these strangers’ stories. I like watching simple acts of human kindness: how complete strangers help each other fumble for their passports, shove oversized luggage into overhead bins, or navigate the stressful security lines while beltless and shoeless. I like understanding how people act under pressure, how they respond to their own vulnerability. I like pretending I’m looking through a viewfinder as faces of all shapes, colors, and moods click past me, faces I’ll most likely never see again. ![]() ![]() I don’t like any of those things, either.īut I do like what airports symbolize. There are a lot of things about these painfully human places of transit that are easy to dislike, easy to be annoyed by-the sterile smell, the delays and long layovers, the endless lines and noisy crowds.
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