Airports

Waiting in line to check my luggage in DC and the traveler in front of me is frantically talking to the airline agent. She is on a flight, but doesn’t have a seat. She doesn’t understand. She’s so confused. I can feel the stress radiating off of her. And I send out positive intentions for her. And I see the possibility of frustrating travel circumstances, and I think “I’m lucky.”

My bags are checked in with ease. And I have a seat on my flight. My backpack might feel like a rock, and I jumble holding way too many items in one hand. But all is good. I am lucky.

I soon board my flight to LA. People are all disheveled as they try to find their seat and scope out overhead luggage space. And I realize I should probably just put mine below my seat. And the man next to me looks me in the eyes and says, “breathe.” One simple word: Breathe. Nothing else.

And instead of thinking in my head, “don’t tell me what to do.” I realize that I’ve forgotten to breathe. The last proper inhale and exhale sequence I had was days earlier in the midst of the Blue Ridge Mountains. So I hug all my shit before I organize it below my legs and take a nice deep breath. And I smile at the stranger who reminded me the most important thing of all. That I am a living being. That no matter what, it all comes back to the breath.

It all becomes simple again. The way it’s supposed to be.