The Rocking Chair

I sit in a rocking chair inside Charlotte International Airport.  I’m on my way to upstate New York to visit my one of my younger brothers and his family.  His son’s third birthday is tomorrow, so it will be fun celebrating with my nephew.  Originally, my flight itinerary had me flying through Philadelphia, but the snowy weather cancelled those plans.  Thus, I pass the time away in Charlotte waiting for my connecting flight.

Now, let me discuss this rocking chair.  It makes for a homey feel in an airport, and I suspect that is the goal.  Behind me is the fast-moving walkway and a view of the airplanes at their gates.  I may be typing up this entry, but every now and then, I find myself listening in on conversations with travelers whizzing past on the walkway.  There are business deals to lock down and/or salvage, friends or relatives arranging for get togethers, and much more.  My fellow travelers are either really loud conversationalists or unafraid of airing out their personal business all over the airport.

At the risk of sounding harsh, most people really do live ordinary lives despite appearances to the contrary.  No matter how fast I walk or talk, ordinary is still ordinary, and for some this means either mundane, monotonous or meaninglessness.  Living a hurried life does not amount to much in the grand scheme of things.  People need people.  When I observe my Facebook feed, I see so many folks posting things about their lives.  Are these posts attempts at genuinely connecting with others, or are they desperate cries for acknowledging a lonely existence?

When I rock back and forth in this rocking chair, it provides comfort away from home.  My wife and I own a rocking chair in our living room.  She sits in it more often than I do, but every so often I plop down into it.  There are times where I enjoy looking at our rocking chair.  [At this juncture, I’m in Albany International Airport finsihing this post as I wait for my lunch.]  All I need is to steal a glance of it.  For me, our rocking chair symbolizes comfort.  Let me interject an observation at this point about Albany’s airport.  It is dead quiet with nary a soul as classical music wafts through the atmosphere.

At this point, I have progressed from the comfy, homey feel of relaxing in a rocking chair to fighting off sleep as I write and eat.  Classical music has that kind of power.  Oh, the difficulties of a traveling life…I digress and exaggerate, but it seems to me that it is time to wrap this up.  Between each sentence, I stuff my face with waffle fries and a turkey club.  This ordinary man enjoys his ordinary lunch at an ordinary airport in the midst of an ordinary day.  Signing off now, but I must say that my apartment in Southern California is a good home.

 

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