airports.

I have a love-hate relationship with airports these days.

In general, I have always really enjoyed the airport. I don't mind long layovers, the crowds don't bother me, even delayed or canceled flights don't really phase me - it only draws out the adventure that can be traveling. I've even developed a sweet little routine for when I fly back into the States from Nicaragua.

{ in case you are interested: }
Always, always, always I do my best to fly back through Atlanta { the other two options being Houston or Miami } and make sure to have a two hour layover. Once I make it through customs { which goes pretty quick these days with their new fancy, automated check-in system }, I book it to terminal C. Why C, you ask? I'll give you three syllables: Chick-Fil-A. { the only airport of my three options to have one... } Number one combo, no pickles on wheat with a Diet Dr. Pepper? Yes please... { judge me if you dare but the living overseas Chick-Fil-A withdrawal is real } After I've fully enjoyed and devoured all the amazingness that is Chick-Fil-A, I find my gate for my next flight. On the way there, I grab some Starbucks and a Real Simple magazine, proceeding to sit at my gate for the next hour or so, sipping my { decaf, due to flight anxiety } coffee and switching back and forth between Real Simple and people watching.

People watching at the airport is truly the best. There are people around from all paths of life - old, young, city, country, international, somewhat normal, a little strange, dressed up, dressed down, big families, loners, couples. And with such a wide variety of emotions - sad, angry, frustrated, happy, tired, excited. There are bored people, late people, lost people, been-sitting-at-this-gate-for-hours people, running-to-catch-my-next-flight people. I love letting my imagination run wild and create lives for the people around me. Where did they come from? Where are they going? What's their story?

But recently, it feels more like I'm the one people are people watching. I'm the one walking through the gate with a giddy smile on my face, excited to see whoever might be there waiting to pick me up. I'm the one anxiously pacing back and forth at the gate, waiting for someone to arrive. I'm the one with tears streaming down my face as I walk through security after having to say goodbye - yet again. I experience such a wide range of emotion at the airport, it almost feels as if I have become the spectacle people come to watch { as if anyone cared that much about the brunette with too much luggage and a sloppy grin or tears in her eyes }.

So now I have this love-hate relationship with airports. I love the excitement of going on a new adventure. I hate the silent car ride home after dropping someone off. I love the sights and sounds of the hustle and bustle that surround me. I hate the empty feeling of sadness when I have to leave. I love my routine when I land in the States and I love the hot, humid air that hits your face as soon as you walk through the airport doors after landing in Managua. I hate when my throat gets caught in that final hug goodbye. I love it when the wheels of the airplane touch down in new place. I absolutely hate it when those same wheels leave the ground and are suspended in air for the next few hours.

And so goes international living, where airport runs become an integrated part of life and you proudly collect passport stamp after passport stamp. It slowly becomes the norm, this ebb and flow of emotions that encase you whenever those sliding glass doors open before you...all you can do is take a deep breath and walk through.