I think I should like to hang out at airports. They're interesting places full of activity where you're pretty much ignored unless you just want to strike up conversation with someone.
I'm in a place I've never been - at least outside of an airport terminal. It's a warm day outside, the view beyond this courtyard is blocked by the dogwood trees which herald Spring with their silouhettes full of early white blooms.
From behind me come the sounds of water splashing in a gigantuan fountain sporting a dias affixed with an angry looking character. It seems to be a female, though I'm not certain, for many historic males are known to be attired in flowing robes. Perhaps, if I allow myself time and the imposition of speaking to another human during this time of relaxation and reflection, I'll find out who it's supposed to depict.
A tiny spider crosses the brick-paved walkway, its form dwarfed by what must seem a neverending expanse. Do spiders have a memory? Does this creature leave someone behind and know how to get back to him/her/them? There are people milling back and forth, some with purpose while others are much like me and are just killing time. I watch the spider's progress. I wonder what it thinks - if it does - as these giant forms approach and barely miss him in their ignorance of his presence. Did he intend this path? Did he know the perils and that he might never retrace his own footsteps? He has a purpose. He is alone and so am I.
There is an archway ahead like a gateway to an adventure, if I could just go beyond it. It is where the dogwoods grow.
A little exploration reveals a plaque explaining the fountain, I suppose. Queen Charlotte, after whom the city is named. Why then does she look as if she's about to be blown away by a gale and is offering her crown to the gods in appeasement?
There is no snow remaining here though there were still banks of it remaining on the tarmac when I flew into here only a few short days ago. I wasn't supposed to be back this way again so soon.
Shop around for baggage fees. I'd explore more but for lugging around these bags. I feel like a beast of burden and stop to linger often.
Dressed for a colder climate, this black absorbs the sun's rays and there's little shade in this courtyard, but I prefer to linger here with the flowers and birds.
Do the birds lie to one another in their indiscernable language? Do they have a need to? Is their purpose and destiny so simple and inherent that humans should wish to emulate them?
More and more people are enticed by the sun into the courtyard. They sit or lie on the benches like it's Central Park. We all wait.
Sun bathers. Why do we ruin our skin? Why do we yearn to grow darker when the color of skin seems to be a major issue in this world? In earlier times, fair, unblemished skin was the rage. Times change. So do many things, it seems.
It's hot. I'm thinking of my summer clothes and deodorant which makes its way to my destination ahead of me - I hope. I'm not sure if the bags will travel with me or not.
I am so tempted to leave the airport and explore the area. Would/could I make it as a professional bum? Too many people to worry about me. I'm not that inconsiderate though there are times I'd like to do just that - strike out, succeed or fail, win or lose.
Why can't I be content to settle for less than I want?
Shit! It's hot! Three hours still to go.
Night falls and my wait is extended. Queen Charlotte disappears, shrouded by the darkness though the waters continue to flow. The sound, however, has disappeared as well behind plate glass and the cacophony of terminal noises. I find a place to sit beside a supporting column which has the necessary outlet to recharge my cellphone which is now dying from the day's ceaseless call and text message use. I'm as tired as the phone but there's no easy recharge station for me.
After seven hours of personally enforced solitude, my peace is interrupted by the arrival of a young black man who plops himself down in the floor beside me and enters into conversation that may or may not be encouraged. He seems undeterred by my refusal to look up from my own activities and continues to talk as if he has my rapt attention. Amused by his persistence, I look at him and mutter in monosyllables when necessary.
He seems to be a little bit "off" mentally from what I can gather by his manner of speech and his innocent eagerness that isn't threatening. I excuse myself to look at the departure monitor and he follows behind me asking one question after another much like a child does. He then follows me back to my section of the floor curious as to why I'm looking at the televisions on the wall. I wonder why me, of all the people in the airport, he's chosen to take up time with. Unfortunately for him,and perhaps for me, I'm not in the mood to be continuously polite and create an excuse to leave him after a while. I say my goodbyes and well wishes then make my way on to my gate just to be certain they haven't played musical chairs and sent my flight schedule to another one.
Finally the delays are over and it's time to board. Goodbye, Charlotte. I hope to see more of you one day.
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Finally, you're alone, free of the eyes and opinions of others. First come the tears washing away the emotions and soothing tender hurts. Like a breached dam, first a trickle and then the rushing of an unchecked flood that threatens to carry you away. But, you hold on until the tears subside and drift into an exhausted sleep which allows you escape from the day, from life, from everything.
You awaken in the morning feeling as if you suffer from an alcohol-induced hangover. You want to shy away from your reflected image but stand there instead wondering who this person is, what she is doing, and where she will go from here. You turn away in disgust from the lack of easy answers.
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An architect envisions a masterpiece of design which he holds close to his heart. Before he can make that vision a reality, he finds a piece of land and consults with engineers and planners to find out if that land will support his masterpiece, if his masterpiece is feasible. Once all data is in, he must create the perfect foundation upon which to place his masterpiece. One mistake and the masterpiece could crumble. He's meticulous with the details and takes his time to make sure everything comes together without risk. He's conscientous, never leaving anything to chance. He cannot, however, foresee or oversee every minor detail and fails to take into consideration that others might not see this as important as he, that they might take shortcuts or fail to hold up their end of the load, and create a fault where there should be none.
What do you do when your firm foundation becomes a shaky ground?
Your first inclination is to remove yourself immediately to somewhere more secure. Somewhere you can pick yourself up, take stock of the situation, and determine whether it's worthwhile to repair and rebuild or better to just move on.
From this new vantage point, you accept opinions from others on what you should do - some self-serving while others are more objective - but it's ultimately up to you as to which direction you feel most confident in proceeding.
You are defined by what you do, not what you think. No-one knows what's in your head until you've expressed it verbally, in writing, or by some other action. It doesn't matter if you carry within you the grandest masterpiece envisioned, until you've shared it with another, until you've taken action to make it more than a vision, no-one can see it but you.
Action does speak louder than words and often contradicts one's words unless who you are and who you want others to believe you are coincide.
What would your latest actions say about you? No-one knows your thoughts, they don't know the preceding actions that brought you to this moment. It is what you do in this particular moment that defines you for them.
You are the creater of your masterpiece called life, you are the one to create the perfect foundation for happiness, you are the one who must act upon the decisions you make, you are the one who must convince others to share and believe in the vision with you, and you are the one who must see it to its success. You can't leave it to someone else.
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