Airport People

At the airport you’re no-where and no-one. Not home but still not away, attached to nothing, free of everything with only the possibilities of the journey ahead. Freedom, you can taste it. There is a reason that its inner sanctum is so well guarded, because what lies beyond it is the magical escape from the rigidly enforced reality of the norm. Normal people don’t just pick up and leave. The cool emotionless faces stamping passports give you a final warning. You have to come back some time, they say, and when you do we’ll be waiting, to make sure that you don’t bring the madness back with you. That madness called freedom, reckless joy made of dangerously stimulated senses and carefree minds.
There comes a time when you just have to get gone, pack up and get the fuck out. It’s so obvious why, that there’s no point in explaining it to someone who doesn’t understand. They don’t want to understand, they can’t understand how getting gone could be the answer to anything. No, there has to be a plan, there have to be steps, you have to do it the responsible way. Fuck that. Plan and all you’ll end up doing is replicating the same patterns that made you unhappy in the first place. If its big change you need, you have to get gone, take yourself completely away from everything that has come to be normal, disconnect completely. You have to become anonymous though, that’s the first little taste of freedom, when no-one knows who you are or anyone you know or anything about you. You can be anything, even yourself.