Airports are places of joy, someone said to me a number of months ago — which actually startled me. I was asking him about joy in the world, and that was about the last thing I expected him to come back with. Sometimes when I’m in an airport, I’m overwhelmed by how transitory so many of us seem. And how casual we are about it. I get nostalgic for a time I never knew, when, as I hear, people got dressed up and prepared for the experience (one they had not even close to every other week) because it was much more pleasant than it is now and because it was a big deal to leave home.
But if you walk through city streets, sometimes nothing looks like it could seem like a secure resting place. People seem to be zoned out to the reality around them, listening to music or a podcast on that headset that seems permanently attached. (One upside of the airport security line — a reminder that those headphones are not actually an appendage?) Even if you avoid looking at your phone, you’ll inevitably wind up talking to or overhearing a conversation about the president’s latest tweet. And then there’s the whole topic of Donald Trump. Even saying his name can result in wild rage or (same adjective) adulation. Both seem like thinly veiled cries for help from a people who sometimes seem to be drowning in ideological immersion. Again, if you look up, you may see signs in the window of every restaurant and store, and of many churches. (I’m thinking first here of the ubiquitous rainbow flag, which is meant by many as a simple welcome, but which no doubt comes with a political and cultural charge.)
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