There’s something about being in an airport and then on a
plane that allows me to open up. To think and feel again in ways I sometimes shut
off. I breathe in the smells: perfumes from Fragonard or body odor from those
of us who have been in transit for far too long. I watch the couples, new and
old, walk hand in hand and bicker in the terminal; the young travelers who are
drinking beer at 9am, and the super littles who just can’t leave the duty-free
shop without one more softie. I love hearing the hushed tones of languages I
can’t understand and pretend I can. I think about my kids still sleeping in
their beds and the fact that I haven’t seen my husband for almost a week. I
love it all. I love being alone.
Of course I always love going back to my life. My family,
friends, my people. But I love being in my own head. I can listen to myself
without any interruptions. For months I have felt blocked. Like I am unable to
take the time or energy to sit down and journal, something I absolutely love to
do. And yet, I step into the airport by myself and feel as if I could write
page after page of musings.
My niece manages a coffee shop in the airport and I wonder
if these are some of the same reason she loves working there. Certainly her
commute isn’t keeping her there. It must be the energy.
Many of the things that pop into my head are letters. I used
to write a lot of letters, both on paper and in my head. Letters to my husband,
my kids, aunts I rarely get to see, letters to friends, letters to my nieces
and nephews, letters to my siblings, letters to ex-boyfriends, letters to
people I just met but have a desire to tell them what they’ve taught me or made
me think about. I love writing letters. I rarely get a chance to
actually type them and send them, but when I do I feel great.
One of my best friends is not fond of the post office. In
fact, she rarely goes and when she does, she doesn’t enjoy her experience. Meanwhile,
I love the post office. I love the idea of people sending letters, postcards,
and parcels all over the world just to tell another person you are thinking
about them. In some ways, it’s a selfish act. I feel good making someone else
know that I’ve been thinking about them. But the emotions and thoughts aren’t
contrived. The sentiment is genuine.
My father and I have always communicated best through
writing. Even to this day. When we fight and need to explain ourselves, we both
turn to letters. I cherish the letters I’ve received from my dad because I know
that for the time it took him to write that letter, I had his undivided
attention. I know that his words come with conviction, passion, and love.
Whether I agree with them or not, letters from my dad always bring tears to my
eyes for this is often how we show our love.
Dave and I started our courtship through postcards. Did you
know that? Back in the day, I used to send a lot of those free postcards that
you can pick up at bars and restaurants to friends and family. It was a cheap
way of staying in touch when Wi-Fi wasn’t really in the picture yet and
emailing from anywhere and everywhere wasn’t always so easy. So Dave and I met
at a bar during our “Beer Appreciation Club” meeting and had an amazing conversation,
but we didn’t exchange any information. We just said our good-byes. But the
next time we met, I had postcards in my bag. He wrote his address on one and
likely assumed he’d never see it in his mailbox. But I sent one off right away and
included one of those free address stickers that you get from non-profits on it
so he’d know how to reach me. No phone number, just a return address. You know the
ending. He sent a postcard right back and there we went. It wasn’t the end of
our mail to one another, but it has been for quite a while. I suppose it
shouldn’t be that way. I suppose we could continue this practice of sending
each other a special postcard or note in the mail. We do have a tradition of
writing our own cards for Valentine’s Day that often include poems, raps, or
silly songs. Okay, I guess that means we’re still writing to each other. Phew.
And so here was a blog about my musings and nothing more. Just
one more letter that I write in my head. I’m just allowing you to read it.
One idea for today: Write a letter to someone you love. Not an email, a letter. Good luck!
The only time I really liked writing letters was when Jim & I were dating & he was in Nashville. We both wrote lots of letters ''love letters'' to each other. I have them in the attic, still. I, now, would rather type letters and email them or print them out. I think you wrote to Gramma S. too. I know she loved getting them. Loved all your emails from Bangladesh too.
ReplyDelete