By Sean Quinn

Do you ever look up at a plane and wonder where it’s going? I do. All the time. I’ll look at its general bearing and imagine.

“Hawaii… Alaska… Chicago… Tokyo… Rome… Nairobi… Dubai”

I even love airports. All of the different designs and pieces of art scattered around them. I’ll look enviously at the departures board and all of the places people are going. I don’t mind the crowd or the lines. I think that hum of energy can actually feel really great sometimes. I don’t care that a beer costs ten bucks. Bartenders have the best stories, and I did enough time on their side of the oak to know how to communicate that I’m “in the club”. There’s even something exhilarating about running through the terminal to get to a connecting flight, the crackle of adventure in the air.

“You know what the three most exciting sounds in the world are?…

…Anchor chains, plane motors, and train whistles.”

 – George Bailey, It’s a Wonderful Life

There are of course few places on this earth more suited for people-watching than airports. Families will arrive, greeting each other for the holidays. You can always tell who is really close and who hugs because “they’re family”.  In just a week or two, you can witness the mirror image. The clan will once again fracture, wondering if/when they’ll ever see each other again.

I’ll give a small smile to familiar encounters: teams with matching backpacks. Southern Missouri gymnastics, Temple track & field, Auburn football (nah, you know them boys fly private). If they’re worth any of their salt, they will arrive with a sense of vigilance. It’s not a pleasure cruise. It’s a business trip. Later, they will return to that same airport, heads held high in the jubilant, frenetic conversation that comes with the thrill of victory or bowed low in the silent humility of defeat… but at least they get to hurt together.

Some will depart with a solemn look in their eyes. They will leave town with a dutiful somberness about them. They will return with little jars and eyes full of memories, both the delightful and the mournful.

Some will be sent off with hugs and well wishes, on the way to some daring escapade in his/her best adventure outfit. Weeks, months, maybe even years later, they will return with faces a little more worn, clothes wrinkled, and boots still caked with dirt from far-off places. There will be phones full of pictures and mouths full of stories.

Lovers will cry at the thought of being apart.

“I just had to kiss you one more time.”

Therein lies the great tragedy. If they’re the One, there’s no such thing as a good enough last kiss. One more is not good enough, and it should never be. If they aren’t the One, then both parties will be able to walk away with peace in their hearts.

But there is a bright side for the “one more kiss” crowd. The Reunion. The world can resume again. We can press play. Please have been watching re-runs. You know I can’t watch a new episode without you.

Then there’s landing. You can go from Cairo to Oslo. It’s like setting foot in a whole new world. You look out the window and see what’s in store for you.

Anything could happen.

“Adventure is out there”.