
It was before planes where pedestrians were weapons and everyone, boarding pass or not, could go all the way up to the gate. If you are young you might not know there was a time where this reality existed, but it did. We were all there with a mixed excitement for what was coming and a growing realization of what we were leaving behind. I was looking for my best friend who had promised to see me off. No goodbyes were final because this would be our final goodbye. She didn't show. Her parents thought, because of her grief, that it would be better if she didn't come. It stuck to my heart with irrevocable pain.
There is a picture someplace, that I don't have on me right now. My two brothers and I, along with my parents, are standing in front of the gate holding a giant map. One of us is pointing to Pennsylvania, where we were leaving, one to Ecuador, where we were heading to school, and one to Uruguay, where my parents were moving. My face is slightly blotchy and twisted into disdain.
I am sitting in an airport. It feels just short of glorious. I am 25 years old and I have averaged around four flights a year since that first time back. I can pack a carry-on to hold 100 lbs if I need to. I have a system. I know the flow of an airport. I know that it pays to dress nicely and speak nicely to everyone in transit because you don't know what they are leaving behind. This trip might be costing them much more than money. I've learned that everyone around you has a story. I once met an older man who gave me Spanish literature suggestions. A young man who grew up in Dubai as a TCK and couldn't believe his luck on meeting another TCK. A woman whose sister had cancer. A man who was struggling with how much freedom to give his teenage daughter.

I am a wanderer, but I am not lost.
What do you feel when you are in an airport?
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