Airports are strange places. I’ve been going through a lot of them recently. They’re no longer mildly exciting – like they are when you’re a child going on holiday – but they do somehow stimulate some strange reflective feeling inside me. Its as if the impartial stop-gap between worlds gives my brain a clinical environment in which to breath. 1 or 2 hours to contemplate and take stock of my immediate past as well as pondering my future, without either of these encroaching on the glossy vinyl, angular glass or background chatter of the inner sanctum – the departure lounge.
I’m currently sitting in Dallas Fort Worth Airport, at gate D22 awaiting a flight to London Heathrow. Its 70 degrees fahrenheit, clear skies and little chance of turbulence until at least half way across the Atlantic. I’ve come from North Carolina, where in Boone hundreds of people were gracious enough to show their appreciation for my film, showing as part of the Banff Mountain Film Festival World Tour. Like in the other film festivals I have attended, and like on my bicycle journey, I was absorbed into the community and treated like family.
Yesterday I sat under a sharp blue sky after climbing to the top of Ship Rock with new friends from the university, staring out at rippling rows of forested ridges fading into an ever deepening blue in the distance. Two hours later I was talking to an enthusiastic crowd who had congregated in a courtyard in Boone to quiz me on any knowledge I might have to offer in the field of adventure travel. Most of these people had seen my documentary. They had liked it, and told me so. That sunny afternoon I realized that I was on a path that made me happy. Its going to take a lot more map reading to ensure I remain on track, but in brief shards of sunlit contentedness, I realize – thanks to these people mostly – its probably worth it.
After a dream-like rest in the Gideon Ridge Inn, I travelled to the airport, and now is the in-between time. I travel back to a land that is likely to be rainswept. Isn’t it always when one flies back to the old country? But trying to look beyond that and the haze of normalness that is hard to get to grips with when returning from an unfamiliar place, the future is exciting. The Dom and Ernie Project start is only eight weeks away. Thats unnerving and exhilarating all at once. So much to do before then, funding to come by, a book to launch, video to edit, bills to pay and the search for some way to stay solvent for at least the next two to three months.
Someone is writing a journal next to me in a small exercise book – actually they’ve finished now. Does the airport represent the same thinking space for them? I guess it might. She’s just found the world clock utility on her iPhone. Fancy. I wonder what time it is. Time to go soon I guess. I’ve pondered enough for now.