In flight

Going, returning and the versions home

In 2010 I spent significant periods of time, significant in both length and the importance of the events that transpired in those places, in seven different cities across three continents. I recently discovered a written account from the time and was struck by how little has changed in my sentiments when traveling and my thoughts on the meaning of home.

In 2013 I spent time in ten countries. 2014 is only halfway over and I am already on my ninth trip across the globe. Wasteful, perhaps. Going entails returning so if I just stayed put I wouldn’t have to always be in an active state of getting there or going back.

But here I am now, once again having lunch with my carry-on and waiting for a flight back. Back? These days I refer to most of my flights as flights back. I can’t decide if this instinctive denomination is a product of the round-trip phenomenon, or of my own adaptability and skill to turn every place I inhabit into some version of home.

As I descend a long escalator on the way to my connection, I get the clear sense of passage. It appears that the constant feeling of return that defines almost all of my travels is caused by the fact that each departure is a transition from one world into another, from one familiar reality to the next.

I make-believe for a second that I am a Cortazar character trapped between two realities, torn between a here and a there, this side and the other one, a female Oliveira of sorts. No matter how remarkably adaptable I am and how many times I packed this same toothbrush in these same suitcases, I will always feel the passage between my two primary worlds (and any other ones I happen to spend long enough in). It is a whole-body feeling of abandon and excitement, spiced with some fear and melancholy—a favorite—a momentary reminiscence of times past that I imagine will flavor my retirement years, and the rush a poker player feels before a new hand. Physically this feeling of passage is similar to the trip down the escalator, maybe that’s why airports have them. Even those fast lanes aptly called “moving walkways” are quick to remind the traveler that she is being carried away into a new environment.

At this point traveling has become so automatic and instinctive that I am somewhat surprised at the sentiments expressed above. Being on a plane for 10 hours nowadays is like sleeping to me, which doesn’t mean I sleep throughout a flight, but that in my mind some nights are spent in a bed and others, just as naturally, in an airplane seat. Tonight is one of these nights.

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