Certain moments make me feel the glow of adulthood—sitting at a mahogany desk while a mortgage broker rattles off numbers, tracing my finger across the black letters on a business card, “Shannon Gianotti, FNP-C”, and driving myself to DFW Airport last Saturday.
The night before my flight home, I still didn’t have plans for getting to the airport. I’ld procrastinated on that part of the trip, because…well…nobody really wants to drive to the airport at 6:30 a.m. on Saturday. And, it’s been spring in Dallas, which—as my friend Dan likes to say—“is the two weeks of the year when Texas actually feels like Heaven.”
“Travellers” by chiaralilly (licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0, modified by Shannon Gianotti)
So, between cranking out a twenty-page research paper for BE102 and writing a pitch for my latest article—I watered my cilantro plants, reacquainted myself with the pool, and neglected fishing around for a ride. By Friday night I was cornered into doing something I’ve never done before, something that (in my mind) only business people do—finding long-term parking near the airport.
Considering my travelog, airport parking shouldn’t be a big deal. I’ve eaten rice by hand in a bedouin tent near the Syrian border, hiked solo in the mountains of Korea, and spent a layover in Hong Kong sleeping under the seats in the terminal.
Still, for some reason, driving myself to the airport felt like a reason to celebrate my adulthood—thirty-three, classy, and paying for airport parking.
But, then, I arrived at the DFW Airport & Conference Center. I parked Jed between two other cars and entered the hotel to pay. A women greeted me from behind what looked like a concession stand on the Jersey boardwalk. While she hunted for my reservation I perused the foyer. A clump of trees filled one side of the room. Their trunks were wrapped in multi-colored lightbulbs and a trash receptacle—the type you find at McDonald’s with “Thank You” painted on the swinging panel—stood guard in front. On the other side of the room stood a statue of a girl surrounded by armchairs. She was holding a teetering pile of book and an enormous poster of the Eiffel tower hung behind her on the wall.
I signed my name, rolled my luggage to the curb, and looked for somewhere to sit. A plant container looked sturdy enough, so I headed that direction. As I got closer, a mash-up of flowers in the pot caught my attention. Mini carnations, in oranges, pinks, and purples, tumbled in every direction, revealing their plastic stems.
Adulthood isn’t always as glamorous as it seems.
I remember the first time I parked my car for the weekend at the airport, I totally relate to what you’re saying! I felt very grown up 🙂