It’s a running joke in LA that if you truly love someone, you never ask them for a ride to the Los Angeles International Airport. Traffic getting in, getting around, getting out… it’s never a quick 20 minutes even if you live down the street. It’s always two hours and I blame the LAX time warp.

Then there’s the perpetually under construction behemoth of buildings that house the worst mix of people. Stressed out pre-vacationers, exhausted and sun-burned post-vacationers hauling an extra 20 pounds of souvenirs. Plus there are the overworked and understaffed TSA agents. Some of them sing, some of them a joke, some of them just grumble when a forgotten water bottle holds up the line… again. It’s always a genuine surprise who you get. Then there are airline workers which vary from the baggage handlers to front desk help and those working at the gate entrance. Always professional and always putting out twenty different fires. But no one truly enjoys dealing with that much stress daily. They must all have ulcers, I think to myself, as I meander my way through the labyrinth of terminals and Starbucks.

This is my favorite place. This is where travelers of all walks of life arrive with hopes of unfulfilled expectations. The missionary heading to Central America, the college students heading to a Spring Break destination consisting of sand and sun. The family flying down to a port city for a Disney cruise. The businesswomen mentally review their deck as they speed walk to their gate taking them to San Francisco, New York, or Beijing.

Then there is me. I’m usually running to cover a breaking news story. Maybe a wildfire, or something political. There are also times I’m making the story; mentally preparing to hike through the snow in Alaska, or trek through the jungles of Central America. I’m ecstatic here at this bustling crossroad. Here is where my hopes bubble over to finally meet the reality of my travels.

I’ve been anticipating this moment of boarding my flight. Will I have an inconsiderate seat neighbor or will I meet my future husband? Or maybe just someone who recommends a great ice cream shop. The airport is that perfect moment before it all truly happens.

Oh, how I’ve missed you! Trying to get a grin out of the annoyed TSA worker with my airport puns. The pilots swiftly walk by with their roller bags who I nod at in reverence as I secretly wonder if I’ll ever get one of those nifty airplane pins. The gate worker who is always eager to tell me her day when I genuinely ask; and of course the baggage handlers who always return my eager waves, possibly confusing me for a child but I appreciate it anyway.

You all make the good, the bad, and the ugly of airplane travel bearable. It’s been a long time, but I’m glad to be back here at my home away from home.