Anchor By Contact

I took my cousin to the airport just about a week ago. She was getting on a flight heading to Munich, with the final destination being Switzerland. Walking towards the giant revolving doors, I couldn’t help but be excited. I’ve been in a similar situation before; heading toward the Rochester International Airport with my family for a flight to JFK, then alone to YVR, and finally landing at PEK. But there I was, on the other side – doing the dropping off; not being dropped off.

Excited, yea – but not as the beast that rears its head through jumping up and shouting, or the brimming child that reveals itself while the prize you’ve desired for so long, or worked so hard for, is just within grasp. It’s one that is inherently tied to fear, or preoccupation – the type where you let yourself become overwhelmed with thoughts and visions of the unknown, but ground yourself when you realize that your thoughts and visions will be tested in a matter of days and hours. This kind of excitement has levels; those dictated by time and those dictated by commitment. Being at the airport, with the flight mere hours away – the time gate was wide open – something my cousin and I could both go through and be a part of. The commitment gate, though, required a pass, and my cousin was the only one with a ticket. It was like a glass wall – I could see myself being more excited, but that was it – I could only see. I could almost tap into that same feeling that I held only a year or two ago, but that was it – I could only almost.

It wasn’t disappointing. It was an opportunity. I took my seat at a round table with my uncle, aunt, and cousin, in the middle of the afternoon, getting whiffs of the odd combination of pizza, chinese, and coffee, and floated back to a dull, uncomfortable chair; alone; legs up on my sole suitcase. The quiet terminal, aside from the occasional whispers of a handful of United Airways Agents, was dominated by an intimidating poster advertising a movie starring a gold and hotrod red robot-man, that was frankly more brilliant in the dim lighting than would be at midday. Cramped, but not from a lack of space, and occasionally shivering, half due to air conditioning during the wee hours of a summer morning and half due to not having control of what tomorrow will bring, I could’ve easily sat there for many more hours, now convinced they would’ve felt like mere moments anyway. It was a memory. It wasn’t real.

It made me proud.

Not because it was an accomplishment under my belt, but because I was able to see my cousin off on her own trip – on her own. It would serve as a rite of passage – a time to learn about yourself, a time to stand on your own feet, a time to confront your fears of the unknown. Those times when you’re truly alone, not lonely, but alone – those are character developing moments that create the person you ought to be. Maybe it’s not a flight to a foreign country, or even outside your own hometown – but whatever or wherever it is, take the trip, it’s your right.