So the reason I was going through that situation in my head about Bali was because I want to go, but, the place where I was motivated from was wrong. I was motivated by emotion. I need to buy it in “God’s time”, or the universe’s time, whichever you choose. So I’m waiting. Thats fine with me, I still believe I’m going. I’m going to start planning my trip. I found my hotel. I’m super excited. Also, there is no reason to believe that I will be able to quit my job by then so for now I’m planning on just going for two weeks. Also, I want to go alone. I have a couple friends that have suggested we go together but honestly I need it for a cleansing trip for myself. I need to see the world without restraints right now. Sometimes I like having people around, but sometimes I don’t.
Because I traveled most of my 20’s for work, I was almost always alone. I became really good friends with the airport. I love airports. I feel so safe and inspired. Mainly because I am going to get where I’m going without any responsibility put on me. Other than having to show up on time, I really don’t have any control getting to where I’m going to wind up. It’s like this interesting, sexy, place, void of responsibility, rich with inspiration and culture. I miss that feeling. Like entering a time warp. Completely alone, but everyone else is alone, you are all alone together. It’s such a nice dynamic. You feel no obligation to speak with one another but you have the comfort of knowing you are all there together. And none of you really have control. And all of you think about the possibilities, both good and bad, of what will come. Everything is unknown. You are entering completely uncharted territory. No matter what day you head to the airport, it’s never the same. You know you will never return home the same. So many people, some who are professional travelers, and some, not so much.
International terminals. The Skyclub. I don’t know if there is a more seductive place than the Skyclub. It’s mostly men, but I like that personally. I like filling up a to-go cup of white wine, or a bailey’s and coffee, and walk around the airport aimlessly. And drinking. Drinking is an integral part of flying. Drinking is so integral for a couple reasons. The mood is light and airy. You feel daring, you feel powerful, you feel sexy, and you are also 1% terrified that you are going to die in a plane crash. You also do not have to drive most likely. I drank a bottle of wine and took a zanax on the way home from Madrid which was only like a 6 hour flight. I have no idea how I navigated my layover. The turbulance in the South Pacific caused me to take an Ambien on the way home from Singapore, my first experience fully awake on Ambien. If you have ever experienced that, you’ll understand why that’s traumatizing.
The experiences you have at airports are often equally as interesting as the destination itself. I’ve had 14 hour layovers in Amsterdam, enough time to go to the city center for breakfast, lunch, drinks, shopping, and a blunt. Airports that are completely open air, like in Palm Desert. Or Traverse City, where the airport is a log cabin. And some airports you refuse to fly out of, JFK or ORD. Some terminals you hate, like the Delta terminal at LAX. Some airport’s that are on your bucket list, like Charles de Gaulle (did it, the croissant’s were amazing), and Heathrow. Ben Gurion, where machine guns and racial profiling are both mandatory. Where ticketing agents open your bag, take everything out, and you replace it, standard protocol. The Atlanta Delta terminal, so overwhelming. Delta’s worldwide hub. Of course this particular night I decided to take a weed gummy bear (like when they first came out so obviously, I overdosed). And there are probably 50 security lines, and you can see them all because they are centralized, and separated by plexiglass, and there are just thousands of people, and the lighting is horrible, it’s like, yellow. This particular night was one of the largest thunderstorms. Another time coming home from ATL, I lost my passport and my iPod in one trip. That was a symbolic I was dating the wrong guy, I found out. I’ve lost every pair of sunglasses I’ve ever loved on a plane. During my hippy years, I was paranoid about the radiation in the x-ray machines at TSA so I would make them give me a pat down instead. Or the years and years I flew with weed before it was legal. Airports are always a fantastic time. Even when they are horrible. Idk. They feel like freedom to me.

