Emergency Exit Row

Even though they were a couple hundred feet away, he could tell they were miserable. Standing out there in the downpour. Their jackets probably did close to nothing when the rain was coming down sideways. But, regardless of their displeasure, they kept working away. Pushing through the storm. Earning that money to put food on their table. Pay off school. Maybe even save enough to get on a plane one day themselves and see the world.

Looking out from the dry interior of the terminal, everything seemed to trivial to him. As others were outside battling the elements to make sure he was able to continue on his journey he was perfectly content. Sitting there, Starbucks in hand, magazine perched on his lap, and headphones in his ears, he realized something. He was just part of a machine. Every other week he was on a plane, flying to different offices around the world, compiling spreadsheets, checking in and out of hotels, interacting minimally with others. He wasn't really living. He was just coasting along.

And it needed to stop.

Looking up at the terminal sign, it notified him that his flight was already delayed a few hours. He thought about it. He had never really had the time to enjoy this city for as many times as he had passed through it. The time was there. So was the money. There was no rush. He should just get up and go.

So, he did.

He wasn't scared when he walked away from his seat, leaving his bags, his Starbucks, and magazine. It all stayed behind, spread out on the seat. His luggage, wherever it was, didn't matter. As he passed by a garbage, he dropped his ticket in. All he needed to do was find the exit.

He was resetting his life. On his own terms.

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