I’m curled up in my little corner at the Tom Bradley International Terminal at LAX. My flight leaves from a domestic terminal, but I ventured over here for a relatively comfortable place to sleep before i take off early in the morning. My flight for New York (via Denver) leaves at 6 AM so I really had to come to the airport tonight (or have someone drive me at 4 AM).

I’m fine with that though. I’m just as happy to crash here. Especially in the international terminal. I feel so at home and at peace here. At night the lights dim and people sprawl out everywhere, camping out during a prolonged layover. I find comradery with the people here. Everyone in between places. I’m not sure why it is that I feel so at home in between places, but I just am. Something wells up inside me– anticipation of something great or exciting– the feeling of adventure.

The next few months will be entirely “in between” months. I’ve felt a lot of subtle emotions creep in over the last few days. But primarily I just feel hopeful. Rested and hopeful. Like waking up to a warm and sunny morning. The lights go on, the day is new, there are no mistakes yet. The bright and beaming sun renews, replenishes, and restores.

“The lights go on, the lights go on, when things don’t feel right.
I lie down like a tired dog, licking his wounds in the shade.
When I feel alive I try to imagine a careless life
A scenic world where the sunsets are all breathtaking.”
-Beirut