The smoker’s lounge in Chicago was filled the usual corrosive cast of characters. The one asshole on the cell phone whose self-importance was so overwhelming that he was yelling so everyone could hear his conversation and see how impressive he thought he was. The token techno nerd was typing frantically on the smallest laptop I’d ever seen.
So many unconnected lives in one room. Lives seemingly unrelated and not intertwined. Yet, we all feel the same things: pain, joy, love, despair, hatred, and fear. All human experience is the same yet profoundly different. All of us striving not to be an interchangeable cog in the mechanism of the world. I wondered where I fit in this machinery. I hoped I wasn’t the squeaky wheel.
I hated airports and most especially I hated lay-overs. This hour of idle time to observe other people is not good. The chick next to me in the J. Crew, Polo garb had at least 3 inches of underwear showing above her belt. She was stretching like a yoga instructor. If someone were truly in touch with their life force then they would know how much their underwear was showing. I constantly wondered what others thought of me in this context: a mop of blonde hair, brown and freckled face, and a body that betrayed years of abuse in the outdoor gymnasium that is the Colorado high country.
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