Writing for life

As I boarded the plane I couldn’t help but reflect on just how tacky the whole flying experience has become. Back when we all used to think flying was something special, I remember thinking that “Airbus” was on odd choice of name for an aircraft manufacturer. Surely associating air travel with something as commonplace as a bus couldn’t be a good thing.

Looking around the plane I’d just boarded I suddenly realised that the people at Airbus were in fact visionaries. They had seen the future, and thanks to Michael O’Leary et al, the prophecy inherent in their name has come to pass. The lurid blue and yellow plastic of the plane’s interior, plastered with advertising, confirmed my suspicions that these days the bus is a classier way to travel.

Still, it was a pleasure to be travelling alone. It’s not something that happens that often, and the freedom to read a newspaper, grab a coffee and a sandwich, even just pay a visit without having to worry about anyone else is liberating. You don’t realise just how preoccupied you become as a parent until you’re away.

I guess for me the contrast is all the more stark because I work from home. I’m around the family all the time – even when I’m working in my office, which is separate to the house, I’m still there, and will see the girls and my wife, on and off, throughout the day. It’s a fantastic arrangement, but it does bring its own challenges, especially when deadlines are looming, the weather outside is good and the girls want Dad to play.

But back to my trip.

I was up to Dublin for a conference on Search Engine Marketing (which is more interesting than it sounds, honest). It all sounded very “official”, and for a fleeting moment it almost felt like I had a “proper” job. It’s great to get away and do a bit of professional networking every now and again. Engaging with other adults in the real world is vital to maintaining your sanity, and I met some really interesting people who could well prove to be valuable contacts in the future. Going to events like this also serves to remind me just how lucky I am to have opted out of the city rat-race.

Everything in Dublin (and Cork, to a lesser extent) seems to happen at a million miles an hour; everyone’s in a hurry to be somewhere else. They walk briskly, heads down to avoid eye contact, a look of grim determination etched on serious faces. People around them are merely obstacles between them and their destination. They have no time to talk, no time to breathe… no time to live. I look at them in bewilderment, and thank my lucky stars that I’m not one of them.

My flight back to Cork was delayed… which meant I was waiting around in Dublin Airport for a few hours. Flight delays with the children are tortuous and seem to go on, and on, and on. But when you’re on your own, free to listen to music, read a book while sipping your double-strength latte, or simply wander around the airport as the whim takes you, the time passes almost unnoticed.

Yes, it’s good to get away every now and again… but to tell you the truth whenever I’m away without the family I really can’t wait to get home. I guess that says it all, really.

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