Traveling induces an odd sense of productivity for me. They're the places I feel most at home - perhaps it's the void I feel it fills in my life. Of transience - a bunch of strangers all there for the same reason - to leave, to escape, to hide, to finish unfinished business, to love, to hope... it's a familiar feeling, a very human feeling. There's a camaraderie about travel, like through all our difference, we're all connected in this strange void of travel, for a moment, we're all nomads, if only for a brief moment in time - like everyone is huma, and exposed. This nomadic lifestyle suits me. Going from one place to another calms me in a way. Rather than being disturbed or upset by the hectic exchanges, I'm relaxed and calm. It feels like I should be here. I'm living in the present. Unlike somewhere that's supposed to be peace and quiet, I genuinely revel in this. Like being in the eye of the storm. I need to read Alain de Botton's "The Art Of Travel" once again, or more aptly, "A Week At The Airport".
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