The love of flying

So lately I have been traveling a lot. And since my most reliable forms of transportation are my own feet and airplanes and because Richmond is nowhere close to being within my walking distance, lately I have been flying more often that I ever thought I would. Long live JetBlue, home of the most legroom in the couch. Besides befriending its whole entire crew, I am starting to feel more and more at home in the most unhomy places in the world, more precisely – Logan International Airport. The same would not be true if I was flying out of, say, JFK - a real nightmare with its perpetual mess of delayed flights and long waits on the runway, and having gone through New York on a couple of occasions, I have sworn to try, at any cost, to avoid this route, unless I am actually going there.

Getting to Logan is an adventure in itself that involves coordinating the flight schedule to that of the commuter rail, getting my usually oversized luggage to the train station, getting on the train, getting off at the North Station and catching a cab from the North Station to the airport. Had I been more adventurous and more concerned about saving money, I would have figured out even a more elaborate plan of changing several subway lines that would eventually lead me to my coveted destination. But since we’re talking ten-fifteen bucks, I find it not worth the trouble and end up chatting it up with drivers, who often happen to be from the motherland (read Russia).

So Logan International, terminal C. How would I ever guess that you’d become one of my most beloved places in the whole entire world? That setting foot past your security check-point would be as exciting and exhilarating as Christmas morning for a kid? Even TSA officers can’t help but notice how happy I look and stop me to ask whether I have just won a lottery and am headed for a grand vacation… Who would have thought that I would come to love your overcrowded food joints, overpriced Wonfgang Putz pizzas and mediocre Starbucks coffee that I get before the departure (the only place that I get Starbucks anymore these days)? Would I have ever guessed that you, of all places in the world, would be where I do the bulk of my school work, as I bide the pre-departure hours trying not to pass out from excitement?

I do love flying. There is something (please don’t laugh) overly liberating in the moment the plane accelerates before the take-off. There is something in that feeling of lightness that gives me a high when the plane is up in the air. Having weathered several trans-Atlantic flights, the short trip to Richmond feels like a breeze, as I leaf through my readings, draft outlines for papers or get my dose of trash-TV, while doing "splits and tap dance and even yoga." And when the pilot announces its initial decen, I get that pang in my stomach, as if the entire city of Richmond is there to greet me with balloons and fireworks and lots and lots of candy…

I have to admit that going back is always a little sad and not nearly as fun, but then going back always involves long lists of things that need to be done, school stuff taken care of, papers handed out, which make my days of Waltham imprisonment pass that much faster before my next trip is up. I leave the airport knowing not only that soon enough I'll be flying again, but that in the matter of a couple of more months I will be leaving Boston behind, if not for good, at least for a long long while.