Young Women at the Airport
"And ready to board next... could the group of realized women please line up to board."
Control is what everyone is after at the airport, despite being what we all unilaterally relinquish from the start. We clutch our belongings. We refresh for updates. We dog after every clock. And for that measure of time in between the sliding glass entry doors and the walk down the jet bridge, young women are granted control--this sense that everyone does indeed crave. But it is the prospect of our life and futures that we grip to manipulate, not the success and ease of the travel ahead.
The density of the airport's energy is a microcosm of the world, of people coming and going, of intentions and destinations and bad news not unlike the daily life of the modern individual. We have all purchased a ticket and packed our bags accordingly, hoping that the miracle of aviation and the chaos of humanity can harmonize for an hours-long trip through the air and resolve at the conclusion of safety and arrival. The task is to slip through the airport unbeknownst. It is a temporary kerfuffle, a noisy buildup to a humming crescendo. But the young woman at the airport is the one at peace in this movement—because at the airport, young women are not just going places, we're going exactly where we set out to be.
Young women at the airport carry an inventory of carefully considered items in our handbags. We arrive on time, or just in the nick of it, and present our most deliberate self to the world of the airport—a projection of the world to which we believe we are going: the succinct outfit, the special occasion perfume, the organization of the esteemed belongings. They are all a showcase of adornments, of our care for ourselves. Everything on our person is an articulation of the ambition of youth, of our fleeting femininity. The handbags are in correct material alignment with the plans of the weekend ahead, and with the submissive folly of plans themselves.
The lesson that control is an illusion is available to be learnt at the most introspective point of every individual life. Women understand this early, because we must; women understand this when we become women. We are attachments to the prescriptions of our bodies. The acknowledgment of its sexual opposite bifurcates the world that was once laid out plainly before us all. Our childhood dreams and intentions concede upon this cleavage no matter how plumb the world may seem. So, we seek control, we pursue perfection, because in every instance of living, we do not have it.
The young woman at the airport feels more herself than she ever has, because there is no time to reflect. There is only channeling. Perhaps a pause to adjust the strap of her bag, heavy with the books she wishes to read over the coming long weekend. In fact, she carries all her wishes with her through the airport. She drapes her leather jacket across her shoulders, like a flag. She flies by the seat of her accomplishments.
The performance of the airport follows a rhythm for which she is well-rehearsed: presentation, compliance, preparedness and flexibility. The airport is a non-place that is nonsensical for things like expectations, unnecessary as special occasion perfume or as extraneous as a plan. If you can find her amidst its maze of ugliness, she will convince you that airport is a ballet and she is the prized ballerina.
A young woman in the airport is the artist of her readied life. She leaves behind the chaos of unanswered emails, of a job to which she is unwedded; the chaos of a boy who has not texted back. A young woman at the airport has finally stopped wallowing on all that oppresses her. In fact, she has forgotten her oppressors, her transgressors; possibilities are all that is on her mind. She will return with second chances, and hand them out like souvenirs.
She will return as a second chance to herself, and the life and merits she believes she could qualify for. The next time you travel, look out for her. She might be wearing bold lipstick and old sweats. Her suitcases may match. Her hair may be greasy, yet her shoes brand new. She likely has her favorite brand of snacks tucked away to enjoy during the flight. Though she may be wearing headphones, she is listening to the heartbeat of her physical, individual, epitomized self.
So good!
This is brilliant!