Airports

I am starting a new job this week. I will be a cashier at an airport store. Cashiering isn’t the sort of job that I would ordinarily go for. Its location is what drew me to it. I love airports. The first time, I think, that I traveled by airplane was when I was three. That was 23 years ago. Air travel was not nearly as common as it is now. I don’t remember that first time, but have been on innumerable flights since that day. One of my more memorable flights was from Mexico City to Los Angeles. We flew with Malaysian Airways. I remember the food being good and that the flight attendants gave us packs of cards to entertain us on the flight.

This blog, however, is centered more on airports. Airports are a place bursting with potential. People buzz through airports impatiently waiting to board flights. Every person has a story. All those stories in one place and reasons for going places are what make airports so wonderful. There are people going home, people leaving home, people traveling to vacation destinations and people on business trips. There are feelings bursting behind the polite publish masks of the waiting travelers. There is lots of hope and excitement as new adventures begin. Sorrow, sadness and nostalgia also abound for many people are leaving loved ones after being home for a visit. If I were not so reserved I would talk to as many people as I could, to discover their story.

I love stories. Every person has his or her own story. I love discovering stories and figuring out what makes people do what they do. Airports represent for me a fabulous feast of stories. I feel them in the air and even when I don’t talk to anyone I am inspired by creating the stories of the people around me. Airports are a place that to most people is an inconvenience that must be endured to reach a desired destination. I see them bursting with energy and potential. I love airports.

There is no such thing as a dragon

While I was eating lunch today, I read several of my childhood books. I started thinking about the importance of stories in my life. I grew up surrounded by stories. My dad used to make up stories to entertain us on long car trips. Most days my family would gather together for an hour or so. My dad would read for a while from a for fun book and then we would have a devotional time. I love stories in any form. I started to really read for myself when I was eight. I was at my aunt’s house with my mom and sisters and as I recall quite bored. I picked up C. S. Lewis’ The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. I started to read. My aunt let me take it home with me when it was time to leave. I read all the way home. I read the very last page as I walked through the front door. I have been passionate about reading ever since that day.

Anyway, today I read some of my old favorites. I found that these stories that I loved so much as a kid still make me smile as an adult. I love them for the memories, but I also love them for the stories. This one book I particularly loved. It is about a dragon who just wants to be noticed. The little boy and mom in the story pay no attention to this dragon because there is no such thing as dragons. In order to be noticed this dragon begins to grow until it is so big that no one can ignore it anymore. Once acknowledged it shrinks back to its original kitten size. This story is great, but what I like best about this book is my attempts to claim this book solely as my own. The book is mine and always was. My name is written in the “this book belongs to” spot by an adult hand. This, however, wasn’t enough for me. I scrawled my name on every page up to about half way through where it looks like I grew tired of writing my name. My s’s and n’s are backwards and sometimes I left letters out. There is no question that this book belongs to me.

I wonder if this was a desperate attempt to claim something as mine where, most everything was shared with my sisters. I didn’t have the responsibilities of being the oldest or the attention of being the youngest. I was indelibly stuck in the middle. Maybe this was an attempt to state that I am me and this is mine. I exist apart from my sisters and what we share. On the other hand, I could have simply been practicing writing my name and what better place than a book that is mine.  I feel like I had something else to say about these cherished books, but I can’t think of what it is. Maybe these books will at a later date provide more interesting thoughts.

I want to sparkle

Yesterday I spent the afternoon judging speeches given by high school students. My cousin is competing. If I wanted to see her and my aunt I had to go and spend time at the competition center. Thus, I found myself in a room with one other judge, a pile of critique sheets in front of me, and two boys who were time keepers. I was judging round one of dramatic interpretations. One at a time the contestants came into the room presented their selection and left. All of the contestants did well, but there was one girl that sparkled. She appeared younger than the other. She bowed her head to signify she was starting and then she popped. I can think of no other word for it. She exploded into action and prose. Every motion of her body flowed from the story she was telling us. She understood the heart and soul of the piece and translated her understanding to us. It was amazing to watch. She did not do a perfect job, but their was an emotional connection between us and her, so that we in turn had an emotional connection with the story.

As I think back on her rendering of her presentation, it occurs to me that few people sparkle in their own lives. How do I live out the story of my life? There are many proverbs and witty sayings about living life fully. One of the favorites, probably because it is in Latin, is Carpe Diem. Seize the day! Although it sounds wonderful, I don't usually live like that. Much more often I live like many of the other performers presented. I have worked hard and memorized my lines. I understand the story. I practice and practice the movements and gestures that will make me look good. Then when I am standing on the stage I deliver it, and I do it well. People love me. In the end, however, it is a memorized speech. It lacks the soul of living.

I want to be the kind of person that pops, sizzles, sparkles, glows, explodes in my life; owning and living my life rather than acting out an elaborate and well rehearsed play.

Starting a blog

You would think that starting a blog would be a simple thing. It, however, feels difficult. There are many choices to be made. What kind of background do you want? What title should you use? Font? Design? Picture? and on and on. If you are successful you have a pleasant looking blog with witty and interesting content to entertain those who are interested in what you are doing.
I have put everything together and now I'm ready to launch my blog. Therefore, I'm writing my first post and am going to let my friends and family know about my new project. Ideally other people will find me and find me interesting to read. Why am I doing this now? That is a valid question. I have aspirations to be a writer. This is an exercise in discipline, learning to relate to people through an online medium. So here it goes. I look forward to seeing you all actively participate in my blog.