Sitting at Stansted Airport waiting for a delayed flight, headed for Copenhagen. Have spent a lovely week in England, mainly in Ely and the Peak District, both of which I definitely recommend.
But airports sure are strange worlds… They remind me of huge ant hills, or bee hives. People going in hordes along specific routes, stressed out, carrying so much luggage. Some eager, perhaps going for a holiday. Some travel-weary and homeward bound. Some have family and friends to travel with, others might be leaving them behind, or are headed for a longed after reunion.
The noise and constant movement here is a stress to my system, I can feel myself gearing up internally, trying to cope with it all. Kids screaming, people talking, walking, running to catch a flight…
Our flight is even more delayed and I vow to myself to go with the flow of it. That’s the only sensible thing to do, and it will be most beneficial for me. We’ll all get home, sooner or later. In due time.
But it sure is a strange world, isn’t it?