There’s a scene in the movie Up in the Air, where the main character – George Clooney, oh swoon! – talks about the lifestyle of air travel, the canned air, the plastic sushi in the lounges, the details of security, the endless movement, and the first time I saw it, I said, hey that’s my life!
As I write these words, I’m up in the air, some ten kilometres over Turkey in a darkened cabin, in between one meal they called brunch and another they’ll call breakfast. In that order. My day will have been three continents, five cities and four airports.
Travel is pretty much what you get with me. My home is a little more solid than the bare apartment George’s character spends as little time in as possible, but a lot of my existence is rootless, a table in an airside cafe with a handy powerpoint to charge up my devices, a room in a hotel that’s exactly the same as every other one across the world, a bag full of rolled up clothes and a collection of travel adapters.
Like a sailor, I have a mate in every port. There are few places where I cannot easily find someone to have a drink with, spend an evening with, swap talk about others in our line of life.
I gave up thinking of any one place as home. The place I love the most isn’t where I live, or even hold citizenship. I don’t live where I was born or went to school. It’s meaningless, really. My home is the present moment.
Accept that, give up attachment, smile at those around you, stay focused on the current task, there’s happiness.
I wrote a good two thousand words of solid sex earlier. It’s going to be one of the money shots of my current Work in Progress, which will be published on Kindle in a week or so.
Speaking of money shot, the photo of a Qantas super jumbo heading this post taken earlier today shows the silhouette of the Sydney Flounge that features so heavily in Mile High Scrub.
We’re coming up to Istanbul, a city I love, and plan to return to one day soon. I’ll log onto the inflight WiFi and post this.
Welcome to my world.