Waiting in the Wings
Whether you love or hate them, airports are captivating places. It seems like waiting is the only thing anyone ever gets done. With nothing to do and nowhere to go before your zone number is called, you either reread last night’s texts or you just sit there like a vegetable and stare. It’s impossible not to notice a million things about those in the crowd of strangers around you and you smile when you happen to glance up and catch someone’s eye. You know the odds are good that you’ll never see any of these people again but you can’t help but wonder where they’re from, where they’ve been, or where they’re going. You feel some kind of deep-rooted respect and reverence because there is so much living going on, so many journeys being taken physically, emotionally, spiritually — and you’re not only in the middle of it, you’re contributing to it.
Beyond the gates, beyond the blue, everyone is waiting. I’ll bet some don’t even know what for. Maybe they’re waiting because that’s all they’ve ever known, waiting for something to happen… anything at all. Some are content, some are entirely discontent. Some love waiting because it gives them something to hang on to, something to keep the gears turning in their minds. Some are tired of waiting because they don’t know what’s beyond the gates but they’re still curious as to what’s out there, they’re still searching for something. Maybe some are so busy waiting, they forget what indescribable beauty is right there in front of them.
If you sift through as many airports as I do, you’ll agree the process becomes formulaic and dull pretty fast. Sometimes you’d just as soon forget where you are and where you’re going for a moment because, “if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen ‘em all.” Waiting for a delayed flight is just as tiresome in Copenhagen as it is in Shanghai, Dallas, Manila or Perth, but that’s no reason to wish the time away. Sometimes I long to fast forward five to ten hours at a time so I could JUST GET THERE ALREADY, and that’s when I realize the ability would be nice, but it’s not a daydream I’m proud of. The last thing I want to do is wish my life away, be it a device to eclipse exhaustion, fatigue, apathy or otherwise. These days are FAR too valuable and I cannot plan which one will be my last. With that outlook, each day, hour and minute is suddenly VERY precious. I must be thankful even for the dull moments because the reality is that I could pass into eternity tonight, next week, six months from now or in fifty years. I need to appreciate the time I’ve been given because that time is not something I can count on. It will elapse at some point and when I look back at the life I’ve just lived, what will I think of it? I don’t want to cross the finish line and feel the tiniest hint of disappointment.
It’s easy to plan. It’s not hard to expect. It’s easy to intend things to fall into place, give or take some heartache along the way.
My plans are common. I want to work hard, immerse myself in what I’m most passionate about. I want to create art, send a message of hope out into the world, I want to inspire others. Most of all, I long to draw a pure reflection of what I’m living for and Who claims my life, my strength, and my all. I want to meet a lovely girl, win her heart, fall in love and get married. I want to start a family someday, have a good retirement, play a little golf, take my grandkids fishing, THEN maybe I’ll be into the idea of my days being numbered. Of course I’m being a bit facetious. Sometimes I’d just as soon put the idea of death as far from me as possible, but of course, I am not the one to decide when my time is up. I can’t keep it at bay with a ten foot pole. An appointment book has been made and my appointments WILL BE KEPT whether I like it or not. The beauty is that I don’t have to be afraid.
What gets me is the way my knees dig into the back of the seat in front of me when the bird finally crests the clouds. It keeps me awake and that’s when I can’t help but wonder where the girl sitting next to me is from, what sort of book the guy two rows ahead is reading, or if the pretty flight attendant with the pony tail has anyone waiting for her back home, wherever that is.
And then the plane lands and I’m out of there. Sometimes I’m walking away, glad to be back on the ground, but wishing I would’ve found a deeper appreciation for the journey itself, rather than focusing only on the destination.
And then in the hotel room, sometimes I stare into the mirror and it’s like I’m looking into the eyes of a familiar stranger. Not in a sad or lonely way, just from a thoughtful, pensive angle. Who is that person? What is he thinking? What is he holding on to? Where does he put his trust? Where is his refuge? What is he really living for?
Sometimes it’s a friendly reminder… sometimes it’s a sobering reality check.
That’s when I realize I’m tired of waiting. I’m so sick of wishing I was there already. I’d rather look around and not have to squint to see the beauty that literally lies everywhere.
Just for a second, forget your weekend plans, forget what’s in the books, forget your date on Friday night, forget how crazy the world is and how you just want to be there already. Things can change in a split-second and sometimes you have no idea what you’ve got until it’s gone. Sometimes life is not about the destination, but about the journey designed to take you there.
Whether things are happy or life is hard, there is SUCH divine beauty all around, and I suppose in a manner of speaking, “the trick is to see it.”
A Switchfoot lyric appropriately comes to mind:
“This is your life, are you who you want to be?”
