Lone ranger...

I’ve always loved traveling by myself.

There’s just something about jumping into the flow of airport foot traffic, stuttering through the stop-and-go of checkpoints and observing the other actors on the stage of the airport microcosm.
It’s a nice situation for an introvert, having to give nothing out by way of conversation but able to wordlessly take it all in—the planes lifting into flight, the vastness of the airport system and—most of all—my fellow travelers, each a story, a study in humanity.

I do love people watching.

And, like I said, I love traveling by myself.

But this morning, here at Midway, waiting for my flight to Vegas, it’s a bit strange, the traveling alone.

My husband is somewhere in this interconnected web of disconnected travelers, wasting time until his own flight boards this afternoon.

We’re heading out to Sin City to celebrate his mom’s birthday—a trip that was in the works well before I was in the picture, which is why I’m tagged on a different plan and enjoying the people watching fare all by myself.

I don’t imagine I’ll be doing this traveling alone bit all too often in my married future, so I suppose I’ll get back to enjoying it while I can.