Everyone moans about the misery of air travel. Herded like cattle, the suspicion of security, the blank-eyed border checks, the endless hours, crowded terminals, bright lights. You develop the flyers-walk, going nowhere. Slowly trailing your luggage through another shiny-floored corridor past another fluorescent-lit magazine rack to find a change of scenery in a purposely unchanging landscape.
You live by someone else’s schedule, at the mercy of the vagaries, with no influence or control.
It’s the very lack of control – if you can allow yourself to accept that at this time, in this place, there’s nothing you can do – that’s so strangely relaxing.
And then it hits you … it’s good because … for now … no responsibilities. Ahhhh.
Skippy strategy: Sometimes, the best thing to do is let it wash over you.
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