I’m writing this morning from Midway Airport, which is my second-favorite airport. My favorite is Charlotte, but I don’t go through there all that often.
Living in Louisville, Kentucky (or thereabouts, Indiana) you soon learn that there are no direct flights anywhere. All roads lead through either Chicago, Atlanta, or Charlotte. Sure, every now and then a smaller airline like Midwest or Vision will crop up and offer direct flights to someplace like Milwaukee or Fort Walton Beach. But pretty much, if you’re flying out of town, you’re going to experience that odd state of “sort of being in Chicago/Atlanta/Charlotte.”
The airport is sort of like C.S. Lewis’ “Wood Between the Worlds” in The Magician’s Nephew. You’re neither here nor there. Or they’re kind of like the Vatican. Are you in Rome when you’re in the Vatican? Yes? No? Technically? Practically?
So right now, I’m not really in Chicago, but I’m not really elsewhere either. I’m in transit.
I could make a nice theological metaphor out of that if I wanted. How the world is in a state of transit, from the Fall to an eventual redemption. We’re neither here nor there, but we see bits and pieces of both, like the random items in an airport gift shop.
Or I could talk about how life itself is a state of transit. For all that people talk about living in the moment and being present in the present, isn’t the present a moving target? By the time you actually stop to notice a moment, it’s already past. The best you can manage is a glance out the window at the passing scenery. Of course, that glance is probably better than shutting the window, waiting it out, just trying to get through it. The margins and in-between places of life are life, too, and not to be missed or squandered.
Hope you’re having a great week. Got a crazy thought? Drop it in the comments. OT stuff welcome, as long as it’s not spam. Consider this post the margin. Doodle whatever’s on your mind.