Airports, we had a good run, but it's over. No hard feelings?

I just read one of my favorite expat blogs, in which a young woman described her love affair with airports — their smell, their energy, the sense of change, of unknown beyond. The ultimate global crossroads.

While flying back to Beirut today, I realized that my heart didn’t skip a beat as far as airports were concerned.

I didn’t embrace you as I walked through customs, or, as I stood in line far too long behind an annoying tour group.

I didn’t think that my grande caramel macchiato tasted better with you than it does in any other Starbucks.

I didn’t wander the whisky counter at the duty free (just to look of course).

I didn’t stand up taller when I saw you thinking, ‘I’ll be in a different country soon!’

But it’s not my fault, Airport, you no longer give me that sense that I’m on my way to an amazing journey… no, you give me FOUR pat downs prior to my completely average macchiato (one of which was far too personal). You really have lost that lovin’ feeling.

Maybe it’s no one’s fault. Maybe we’ve just gotten to that point in our relationship where the passion is gone — it happens. I’ve seen you 13 times this month. I need my space – you’re crowding me.

It’s become utilitarian – a partnership. I know my life is better with you in it, but I have to admit that, today, I had impure thoughts about a train station. (And why can’t this region calm long enough to build a few?)

The thing is, I envy this young woman and the excitement she still gets from you. I envy that she can still enjoy your very presence, while I keep one hand on my Netbook and one on my Blackberry. I frantically look for a connection, only to remember that I am more efficient when not connected — and wish I had turned off Skype before connecting. I type while I walk — I’m now one of those people that other people blog about while "people-watching" and thinking "I wonder if his report is really so important."

Well, that young female blogger in her first year as an expatriate — a 23-year-old freshman of sorts. It’s puppy love. I’ll ask her to blog about you again in 10 years — we’ll see if she still feels the same.

Luckily I still have my work to keep my passion alive as my relationship with airports comes to a close.

We can still be friends.