KCI, Kansas City International, is homegrown and small enough for me to be sitting, right now, at the end of the security check in area. You know, the place where men and women put their shoes, belts and jackets back on, and where they put all those little 4 oz. vials of personal care products back into their suitcases, hoping that no one sees their toe fungus meds, rogaine or hormone replacement pills (are they pills? I'm just too young to know yet!). This is a great vantage point for me. I'm am utterly fascinated by what happens to us at airports. I mean, where else does all our mammal-ness come out both flamboyantly and sadly? We trudge up to prove that we are who our little plastic ID cards say we are. Last time I checked in, I had my glasses on. I did not have those spectacles on in my photo ID picture. The man eyed me up and down so I had to reassure him - "same gray hairs sir." He nodded and allowed me to pass. Then the de-robing begins. I don't know about you, but I always feel sort of foolish when I start stripping my belt and shoes (and today I didn't even have socks on - my pedicure needs an overhaul, was anyone looking?), and start unloading my pockets. I am certain that someone somewhere is keeping video footage of all this and is going to make the most hilarious and telling documentary about us to show to the people of the next century, or to folks on another planet. (Side note - the most beautiful two priests are just putting themselves back together - white haired, collared gents who, if I was the security guard, I'd wave through and ask them simply to pray for me). So I proceed, feeling like someone who is being duped by some big sister in the sky - "ha ha ha" she says. "Do you really just do everything that you are told to do?"
Besides feeling dumb, something else happens to me when I'm baring the soles of my feet to strangers - the strangers suddenly feel like friends. I often imagine bubbles above our heads with thoughts like "WHAT are we doing?" and "let's go rogue!" and "I'll make sure you don't leave your phone or your belt in this plastic container-I've got your back" and "please don't look closely at my personal hygiene items," or "wow, we all brush our teeth and we all know to put the toothbrush and paste in the clear plastic bag." Oh, you could go on and on wondering what we are all collectively thinking. It feels sort of intimate doesn't it? I mean, it's kind of interesting when a handsome man is next to you, taking off his belt, and is in his sock feet - makes you wonder things. Ok, it makes me wonder things.
I think of the elderly folks who are going through this rigamarole. Really? You are going to make that 90 year old, dignified woman take her shoes off and dismantle all of her bags? Do you know how long it must've taken her to pack and organize those bags perfectly for this journey? Ok, maybe I'm wishing they would consider that when I come through! Maybe, just maybe, I'm identifying more intently these days with older women. I digress.
After we strip ourselves bare, proving to be worthy of going to the next step...there is the NEXT STEP looming in front of us: the passage way to the giant, metal tube that leaves the ground. I tell you, if that doesn't bring some mammals together I don't know what does. We've all made it through security, and are experiencing a sort of "ahhhh" moment, celebrating the fact that we passed. And then, like lambs to the slaughter, we realize we made it through to ....this???? Again, I feel duped. I jumped through hoops and followed the rules, but my reward is that I get to put my mammal self on this crazy ass large metal thing that someone is going to fly in the air? I look around at my fellow mammals. I kind of feel sorry for all of us. I don't care what anyone says, this is scary stuff. We have relinquished all of our control. We have no idea who is driving this bus. Did they just have a fight with their significant other? Are they gasping for air from a broken heart? (Neither of those two comments have anything to do with me by the way.) Did he or she party all night? We all ask these questions in the deep recesses of our minds - they are too scary for the forefront. So, we all are standing there - it doesn't matter if we are doctors, lawyers, or Indian chiefs - we are all in the same boat literally, at that moment. Sweet and sad are these airport moments.
One by one er trudge forward, cattle- like in our movement through the gate. I can almost hear the mooing sometimes. Once on, the battle for space, comfort and pure perseverance begins. This part of the trek is about posturing and decisions. Will I be able to coordinate my overhead storage moment with my carry on bag that I keep at my seat? Will I knock someone unconscious as I sling my bag up over my head? Will I luck out and be the first one on my row, or will I have to do the aisle dance with my row mates? The big decision for me is about small talk. Am I going to engage the person next to me or not? You'd think I would take advantage of these opportunities to have an encounter with fellow traveler, after all we've just been through together in the terminal. Also, in my line of work (as if I have one) which is discovering stories, you'd think I'd go after the one right next to me - the one practically, but hopefully not literally, in my lap. But most of the time in these situations, my introvert wins. She wants to hunker down deep into the pages of book or magazine. Beyond that, my defense mechanism of narcoleptic- like ability to pass out on planes kicks in most of the time. I can be in a deep sleep in no time on a plane. It is a nice buffer to my phobic separation anxiety that I started experiencing once I became a mother. It usually kicks in before we're off the ground, for which I'm grateful. I get to miss all that trauma about leaving the earth and all. Don't get me wrong, I can do the meet and greet and make nice with my seat mates, but it is short lived most of the time. I did meet Harold from California years ago. He was an older gent and we talked for hours on a plane from somewhere to Denver. He was a gift at a terribly confusing time in my life. So, I don't want to look opportunity in the face and write it off.
...Over a month has passed. I made it from sky to ground, one more time. I am so grateful. I am always grateful to get home to North Carolina. I love North Carolina. I love my home. I love my momentary home of the Dripolator coffee shop in Black Mountain. I'm on a trip to play connector person with beloved friends. Now, I've been inside too long an a perfect November day writing.. Gotta get out there before it gets dark. Today's mission: absorb beauty.
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