The airport experience
a space between spaces
There’s a charm to airports that I’ve always found but struggled to describe. For many, an airport might be seen as just a conduit from one point to another. To me, airports are much more. I see them as spaces where human experiences intersect, and where the normal constraints of space and time momentarily blur.
4:35 am
I arrive to the airport early enough to have enough time to purchase a bite. Off to a good start, I think to myself. It’s been over a year since I’ve entered this microcosm and I’ve been looking forward to it since booking my trip. Together the orchestrated chaos of bustling travelers rushing to check-in their bags, sounds of luggage wheels, and the endless announcements cracking through the PA system becomes its own kind of serenity, oddly. Or maybe I’m just tired.
5:12 am
As I make my way to the gate, juggling my coffee, cellphone, and wallet in one hand, while rolling my carry-on suitcase with the other, I indulge in some casual people watching, observing the varied emotions etched on the faces of those around me—excitement, anxiety, anticipation, exhaustion. Some older, some younger. Some traveling close, some traveling far. Each person seems to be encapsulated in their own bubble. I wonder about their destinations, the stories they carry with them, and what new experiences await them.
In these moments, a realization dawns on me. Our brains have the tendency to inflate our minor inconveniences to seem monumental, but here, as I watch the business traveler sprint to their gate minutes before the plane takes off and observe a young couple grappling with their crying baby, suddenly my own troubles feel insignificant. At this moment, the only things that really “matter” are my boarding pass, my driver’s license, and my carry-on luggage.
There’s something about sitting in a quiet corner sipping on an overpriced coffee (I don’t even like coffee like that) and nibbling on a sandwich in an airport that brings me an unexpected sense of contentment. I continue to observe my surroundings and take my time looking around and this time notice the gentle warmth of strangers around me. Young folks helping the elderly get to their gates. Children somehow making airport benches look comfortable as makeshift beds. Couples offering each other comfort as they wait in line to board.
Typically, I enjoy chatting with the person in front or next to me and learning about their journey, but this time, I find more joy in simply observing the activity around me. It’s like watching a campfire—on the surface, nothing much is happening, but if you pay close attention, there’s a constant, mesmerizing movement occurring beneath.
In these fleeting moments, I feel a connection to the shared human experience. Each traveler, regardless of where they are going or coming from, boards the plane with the same purpose—to get away.
6:04 am
Once I settled into my seat, a sense of relief takes over my body. I had 3.5 hours to unwind, ponder, actually read a few chapters of the book I brought (I didn’t), watch Perfect Days (I did), and squeeze in a nap in between.
I had forgotten the liberation (and privilege) of sitting in a plane. Urgency and rush removed, leaving only the experience of being. What other choice do I have, after all? My universe is now confined to Delta airlines. My identity is no longer my own. I am simply a passenger passing through.
As the world below became a distant blur, I think about how easy it feels to surrender and let go of control up here. Freed from daily life pressures. Again, what other choice do I have…but to decide between salted almonds and Biscoff cookies for a snack?
Last year, I listened to a podcast episode from On Being by Krista Tippett about silence. In this conversation with Gordon Hempton, an acoustic ecologist and advocate for preserving natural soundscapes, Tippett and Hempton explore the idea that silence is not merely the absence of sound but the absence of noise. It’s about creating a space where we can fully engage with the present moment.
At 35,000 feet above the ground, I find that the plane offers a unique form of silence—one that is not necessarily quiet, but free from the interruptions of daily life. The faint noise of the engines underneath and the occasional chatter of nearby passengers becomes a soft presence in the background for my thoughts. Up here, ironically, I feel grounded. The plane, in its own way, becomes a sanctuary for calm.
The plane becomes a perfect vantage point for both introspection and observation.
I look out the window and replay scenes from a recent event I had spent months planning with my loved ones, wishing I could experience it all over again. As I ponder, I think of a person I haven’t spoken to in almost a year and wonder how they’re doing; and if I had crossed their mind as well.
With my legs and lower back beginning to ache from the confined airplane seat, I distract myself and smile thinking about the new experiences awaiting me once I land. Then a sobering thought crept in—the harsh reality faced by children in Palestine and Congo and the list goes on, who face hardships daily. How fortunate are we to experience discomfort as a choice, while children and families face discomfort and relentless struggles daily that they cannot escape?
My thoughts are interrupted by an exchange to my right: a young man quietly whispers to his friend, “Dude, I need a drink.” This simple remark triggers reflections on the alcohol industry and its influence on our culture. At this point, I’m tired of thinking. I close my eyes and try to nap. Fail. Naturally, I pull out my phone and scroll through my camera roll, surprised by how swiftly time has passed as I stare at pictures from a year ago.
The view from the plane window catches my eye. The clouds appear like an endless, soft blanket, covering the world below and dividing it from the sky above. I look to my brother and say “We’re so small up here.” In this moment of surrender, I release the need to control, contemplate, or fix anything, fully embracing the vastness of our suspended state. Soon, we will return to our individual realities, re-engaging with the familiar rhythms of daily life.
Something to reflect on
When was the last time you felt free from the pressures of daily life?
How does your environment influence your mental state? Are there any particular places or settings where you feel more centered?
How do you connect with others in shared spaces? Have you ever found unexpected connections with strangers?
In case you missed it
I’ve watched Perfect Days on Delta flights twice now and it made me cry both times. Which is apt for a movie about an emotionally repressed dude who is so moved by great works of culture.
Reading you article felt like a watching a mundane movie it brings serenity.. 💙♾️🙏