The Strange Comforts of Being in Transit

There’s something strangely comforting about being in transit.

Maybe it’s the hum of the airport at dawn, or the way train stations always smell the same no matter where you are in the world. Maybe it’s the in-between-ness of it all – neither here nor there, just moving. Just existing.

I’ve always liked this feeling. The quiet ritual of leaving, the familiar rhythm of arriving. Every time I pass through the airport gates, I turn back for a final wave at my parents. Every time I step off a plane, there’s a moment – however brief – where I feel like I’ve landed somewhere new, even if it’s just another stop before the next flight.

Sitting in an airport alone, I’m aware of how small I am. A girl in a quiet corner of the world, waiting for a plane, waiting for a gate to open, waiting for the next chapter to begin. I arrive early – one, two hours as I need to – but I like the pause. The waiting. The stillness before the movement. There’s something peaceful about it, even when I don’t quite know where I belong in that moment.

I don’t mind being disconnected. I rarely activate a SIM card when I travel, and I don’t go out of my way to buy data. But there’s always an obligation – to text my parents before I board, to let them know when I’ve arrived. It’s a quiet tether, a reminder that I’m not completely untethered from the world. Not yet, anyway.

Then there are the small, familiar routines. The tiny comforts that make transit feel like its own kind of home. The internal debate: Do I watch the in-flight movie or pretend to be creative? I always bring a notebook, telling myself I’ll write something – something brilliant, something inspired. But the pages stay blank, the pen untouched. The creativity never comes.

Instead, I listen to music, stare out the window, and let my mind wander. And maybe that’s enough.

Maybe this restless movement is why I chose travelling as a job in the first place. The idea of always being between places, of never fully settling, feels more natural than staying still.

People talk about the journey being just as important as the destination. I don't know if I fully agree. Take packing, for instance. My first packing list was a disaster – following it proved that. But I've learned to travel lighter, to carry only what I need, to let go of what doesn't serve me. Maybe that's what they mean about the journey – it's the lessons we learn along the way.

And maybe that’s what transit teaches me. That in-between spaces aren’t just about waiting – they’re about shedding the unnecessary, about becoming something new before the next arrival.

It’s strange to think how far I’ve come since the start of it all – back when I barely knew where I was headed. And yet, every time I find myself sitting in an airport, a train station, or the back of a hired car, I feel the same sense of ease.

Maybe it’s the anonymity, the fleeting nature of it all. Maybe it’s the freedom of knowing that, for a little while, no one expects anything from me.

The underrated part of travel isn’t where you go, but the spaces in between – the quiet moments where you’re not quite anywhere, but somehow exactly where you’re supposed to be.