"Stuck in the same place I've always been.
And I'll keep wonderin' and wonderin'
And wonderin' and wonderin'
When will my life begin?"
It's funny how one can relate to a Disney character. Obviously, it's by no means the next Mozart. And, no, it doesn't have quite the poetic beauty of an Ed Sheeran lyric.
But, I feel like I'm stuck in my own castle at this point in my life. Am I happy? Of course. I'm healthy and blessed. There's not much more I actually need right now. Yet things still feel repetitive, stagnant and uninspired.
I blame the airport for this feeling.
Most people love flying because of the take off and landing, or the beautiful views of the sky. I love traveling because I love airports. Airports are the coolest, most eclectic places in the world.
This past weekend I booked an impromptu ticket to Columbus to visit my lovely college roommate Kirsten. I left from Salisbury and that airport, while conveniently close, is admittedly unexciting and underwhelming. The Columbus airport isn't much different.
However, both arriving and leaving Columbus, I had a lay over in Philly. So in other words, I had hours to roam in a giant airport. I was like a kid in a candy shop (pardon my cliché).
Why this interest in airports? The answer is simple: think about all of the stories there. I brought a book to read but barely got through three pages of that story because I got too engulfed in the hundreds of stories walking by me in the airport terminal.
One family was traveling back from Disney World. The parents were a bit on the older side and their little boy was adopted. But his over-sized Goofy hat and cheesy grin proved he just had the time of his life.
Two college-aged girls missed their flight to Richmond. One was nonchalant about the whole thing. The other was panicking because she needed to make her night class the next day.
As I got in line for coffee, the man in front of me has just got in from England and was picking up a quick bite to eat before heading to his next flight (side note: ordering an Italian panini sounds much more elegant with a British accent).
A well-dressed man was on the phone with a close friend while waiting for the plane to board. You wouldn't be able to tell by his polished shoes and tie, but he had spent all weekend in a grimy t-shirt and shorts helping his buddy remodel a house.
When I was walking through security, an older Hispanic women was in tears as she walked away from her daughter toward the terminal. I so badly wanted to give her a hug. Her daughter's eyes weren't much dryer.
I could go on and on. I have a list of memories from that one trip to Columbus about a dozen strangers. You could call it beautiful curiosity or incredible eaves-dropping, but either way it's incredible how eclectic the people in an airport can be.
And then I was reminded just how big the world is.
And then I was reminded that I was flying back to Delaware.
And then I felt like my life in Delaware shuts out all of the beautiful stories.
And then I felt guilty because I know I need to take a risk, but admitted to myself that I was too scared to do so.
And then I asked myself, like Rapunzel: When will my life begin?
I guess in this case, the airport was my Flynn Ryder. The airport rescued me from my methodical schedule and reminded me that there is more beyond the castle walls.
I just really love airports.
