airports and adulthood.
thoughts on necessary evils
He told me about his ex-girlfriend the morning after the night before. We lay on our backs on my bed and let our bare feet dangle out the window. It made me feel like a child on a swing, the wind grazed my bare shins and my stomach lurched. They had been long distance. I didn’t think much of it. Just that she had been there and he had been somewhere else. It wasn’t for another couple of months before he told me that she had been a six-hour plane journey away.
“Six hours!!!”
“Yes, Emma, six hours.” He said it matter-of-factly and took another bite of rice and chicken. I couldn’t possibly fathom loving someone six hours, two time zones and at least one airport away. Up until this point I had always seen him as a boy; mischievous and sweet with too much energy and a short fuse when hungry. At that moment, however, he seemed very grown up. It seemed so grown up to love someone so much so far away. To trek to see them and stay faithful without the reward of casual sex or even a goodnight kiss. There was something more to it though, something more than the journey, or the timezones or the destination. He journeyed through an airport for her.
I’m not entirely sure what I thought being an adult would entail. I probably thought it meant having a house and a Tesco Value Club card. I now realize that being an adult is a lot more difficult than this. It actually means having smaller bags inside of bigger bags and the smaller bags being full of important stuff like medicine or tampons or lip balm. You get additional adult points if you can shower and exercise regularly and order contact lenses before you run out and NOT moments after you fruitlessly dig through your kitchen cupboards blind in one eye to try to find your very last spare contact that you SWEAR you put in there a few months ago but all you can find is a condom that you were given on your first week of college in 2016, an unopened bag of quinoa and an empty melatonin tablet container #girldinner.
Recently I asked my coworker what he thought about airports (yes, this is the sort of high brow water cooler convo I am engaging in) and he said they were a “necessary evil”. I think being an adult is a necessary evil of growing up.
I don’t know if I would go as far as to say that airports are evil but I do think they are one of the strangest places in the world. It’s like time and space doesn’t exist when you’re in this oversized white tiled enclosed arena under fluorescent lights. Walking and walking and occasionally not walking and using one of those flat escalators - yes I know you're supposed to keep walking on them - and walking through tunnels and over bridges to gates. It’s also never a normal temperature in an airport. Have you ever noticed that? It is either very very hot or very very cold and you never seem to dress for the right one.
Where else would you see someone consume a pint of Guinness at 6AM or eat a full Burger King Whopper Meal before 9AM? Las Vegas’ Harry Reid International Airport has a vending machine full of bouquets of withering roses. San Francisco International Airport has a yoga studio and meditation room.
I think how people maneuver an airport is often how they maneuver through adulthood. Some panic, stress and pop a few pills to stay sane. Those are the ones who always seem to lose their luggage, leave their passport in a bathroom or have to unpack their carry-on as security investigate the contents of their grubby ziplock bag and mildew laundry. Others seem to glide through though, nursing a glass of white and perusing the Chanel perfumes and Ray Ban’s at Duty Free.
I’m still not too sure how I navigate an airport. I always try to be prepared, I never over pack and have all of my liquids inside a smaller bag, inside a small bag, inside a bigger bag. But for some reason no matter how hard I try, the Russian Doll of plastic always seems to overflow and I find myself running to the furthest gate with my bra tangled in the cord of my electric toothbrush charger, a coffee stain down my front and a controversial meal deal trifecta falling out my pocket in a matter of seconds.
I thought adulthood would be like walking a tightrope. If I was meticulous and cautious enough I could get from point A to point B unscathed. Terrified and withered but unscathed. I’m realizing more and more that being an adult is more like bungee jumping into space blindfolded. Leaping with full force from one decision you have to make to the next. Sometimes it’s about what you’ll eat for dinner or if you should text him back “omg, that’s crazy” now or tomorrow afternoon at a very casual 3:38 PM. Other times it’s about really scary things like if I go to the doctors for this weird mole will I be able to pay my rent next month or if I don’t get this visa application done I am genuinely going to be kicked out of this country. I have found that the only thing connecting you to reality is something that connects you to others. A job, a goal, friends, family - without that you would be untethered. I would be anyway.
Growing up - the destination - seems kind of great. You get to do all the things you wanted as a child, stay up late (yes, I am writing this at 2:50AM), kiss people you fancy, watch tv, eat pizza whenever you want (maybe that’s why I am still awake at 2:50AM) but somethings the journey there - phew it’s a little tough.