On my way back from traversing the Carlingford Line I stopped by the International Airport. In contrast to my anxiety filled departures I am always overcome with a strange feeling when I visit for fun. It’s a combination of nostalgia and anticipation for a non-existent journey.
Sydney’s landside departures area might not be as airy and modern as many other international terminals, with low ceilings that looked dated when I first flew out from it almost a quarter of a century ago, but I love that it retains that same feeling.
I wandered around the airport, browsing through several shops. I imagined that I was heading off on a trip. Looking through the WH Smith activity books and toys I felt a tinge of regret that Alex has outgrown most of these and that he was never into them much anyway, prefering his electronics.
Lunch was a katsu chicken burger from Chicken Confidential, probably the best I’ve had in a long time. I just sat and watched aircraft taking off into the brown skies or taxiing in, passengers walking past on the way to their gates. I could feel their excitement, pretend it was mine.
I realise now what has changed. Now I plot my route, look up the weather, plan and worry. Here, today, I am simply living in the moment, as I did all those years before. And I wonder if I can return to that point.
