An Ode to Writing in Airports

As someone who goes to school halfway across the country from their hometown, I’ve spent much more time in airports in the past four years than the first eighteen years of my life. Usually alone and often with a layover, I have to keep myself occupied.

And how do I often do that? Through writing.

For some odd reason, my writing while traveling tends to be some of my most productive sessions each year. Even with the bumps of turbulence and chaos of the gates, I manage to crank out more words than I ever would at home. And I often don’t even have my beloved music and pomodoro timers to help me along!

So, what is so special about airports that makes me so productive? Most would point to the lack of wi-fi, and therefore distractions, but those who say that must never have been in an airport before. Not only is there the wonderful invention of cellular data, but unless you happen to have a flight at a lucky time, every square foot of the place is filled with distractions. Turn one way, and you have kids fed up with sitting for so long. Turn another way, and there’s a dog yapping at every person who walks by. 

But, the magic of the airport still remains. While in most situations with so many distractions, I’m lucky if I write 800 words in an hour. My brain gets stuck, and the words just won’t come out of me. When I wait for my flights, though, my fingers effortlessly glide around my keyboard, and the page fills up with black text faster than I can even process.

Is it the aura of other people, some of whom at least pretend to be productive? Possibly. Is it the fact that phone battery life is a precious commodity that must be saved for the travel updates that my mother waits for? Maybe.

Or it’s just the airport itself. The same, unexplainable aura that makes it socially acceptable to drink at a bar at nine in the morning or have candy for lunch might be the key to uncorking the flow of words onto the digital page. Airports are a place where normal worries go out of the window, and where despite the amount of human restraint and courtesy every step of the process highlights, a sort of collective feral energy builds and infects every person that passes by.

Despite some of the less-than-stellar experiences I’ve had travelling between my university and my hometown, there is still a soft spot in my heart for what happens in the strange, strange walls of an airport. As I write this blog post, a sense of longing struck my heart, though I have no intentions of travelling until possibly Spring Break. 

Until then, I raise my metaphorical glass to the airport in the hopes that, somehow, I find a way to unlock that state of writing bliss before we meet again.

One of the many photos I take whenever I get the window seat on a flight. Bonus points if you can figure out the city, as I don't remember.