Spontaniety and the Airport

I believe in spontaniety. I think the best thing in the world (and hopefully I'll get to do it someday) would be to get in a car and drive (preferably at sunset or in the rain) for as long as I wanted, to wherever I wanted, without limiting or checking the time or worrying about schedules or dates or food...well maybe food. Definantly food. Spontaniety spins the world. Waking up in the middle of the night with an idea in your head and working for two hours before jumping back into bed, blossoming cherry trees inbetween a grocery store and a barbwire fence, random drawings stuck on walls, a pattern in your grilled cheese sandwich, an unexpected piano solo in a rehearsed and twice reahearsed song arrangement, a totally unplanned photoshoot on a never-before-used location, watching clouds form shapes,  not starting a sentance with a capital letter and ending it with a period because it's your blog...

little things that, when you stop and think about them, make you stop and just think that was lovely. i wish that happened more often

                                        you can't change life and time, so just relax and go with it

Which brings me to my next point: I love flying. Since I love flying, by default I must love airports, since probably at least half of the "trip time" is spent in the airport. But airports are wonderful things. They are home to hundreds of thousands of people at one time, most of them normal people with normal lives. You can tell who loves flying and who doesn't, though. The people who enjoy it and don't really care if their flight is delayed four hours, they just wander around the airport and mingling, with no apparent destination. The ones who are willing to sleep on their bags in the middle of the floor, the ones who smile at strangers. They're the ones who don't care if you spill your drink on them, the ones who help the lady two rows up get down her lumpy lamp shade box from the overhead, and the ones who take the subway three times around the whole airport.

Airports have a remarkable way of bringing you down and showing you that on the outside, you're just another person in a pool of thousands, another face in a myriad of people passing by. But if you just stand there and let the sounds voices wash over you, you'll realize that underneath each face is a heart, a soul, and a life, and each life leaves a trail behind it, even though in this meeting of millions, nobody really knows where a trail ends or starts, because we're all just travelers. We'll always be travelers.