There's a rail strike. I hadn't accounted for that. There are also no hotel rooms available at a reasonable price. This all means that I'm spending the night in an airport. It's October, but I've managed to find a spot that's relatively warm. It's quiet here too. As I write, a young man is pushing a trolley with cleaning supplies around, pausing occasionally to mop spills and other unpleasant things from the floor.
A matter of hours ago, I was saying goodbye to the one I love. We both wish that we lived on the same strip of land, at the same address. Travelling back and forth is the current way of things though. I was thinking about this while on the bus, which would take me to the train, which would take me to another train, which would take me to the airport. I was thinking about how our lives change, and we change with them.
In counselling theory, we talk about configurations of self. Really, we reconfigure ourselves many times throughout our lives. It's tempting to think that our sense of who we are is constant. The truth is, we are changed by our interactions with others and the world around us. Sometimes our experience reconfigures us, forcefully, in so many ways that we question most of the things we believe about ourselves. We might find ourselves mourning the loss of who we once were. We may no longer be the same father, mother, brother, sister, friend, colleague or other.
A young man is now walking around with his phone in his pocket. The phone is playing old songs in French. Strangely, it seems to fit the atmosphere here.
Amy came into my life at a time when I was reconfiguring myself in many ways. Actually, that was something we had in common. It's something we still have in common. We're at a point where we understand each other enough to respect that the other is going through a process.
The man with the old French music is now sat just a short distance from me. I have to admit I'm enjoying the music - it seems to go well with the atmosphere of an airport in Northern England at night. The sound of it is echoing in this space, which makes it even more spectacular.
I used to hate airports. An airport is a place between here and there. When you're here, you're not really here; you're not there either. In your heart, you wish you were somewhere else, with someone else.
I've been in this country and away from this country enough to see it for what it is. Being back here, there's a sense of how wonderful and awful it is at the same time. Now, in the dark with the lights shining only in pristine, characterless rooms and corridors, it's easy to forget all of that for a while. It's not so easy to forget that I'm away from the one I love. She's probably sleeping now. I hope she sleeps well.
The young man with the old French music has gone. Maybe he has a flight to catch. Maybe I'll fill this space with the sounds of the old soul music I've been favouring recently. I'm lonely here right now. I guess I have to get used to that feeling again.
