The Airport Bar

This a picture of airport in Iraq. Def no bar in that airport. But here at JFK in Le Grand Comptoir wine bar, I can drink wine and listen to Big Sean on my headphones and feel cosmopolitan and worldly. Traveling is strange. I never want to leave home. I hate the drive to the airport. I hate security. I hate the mean angsty travelers and the cops. Then I get to this wine bar. IF I am traveling internationally and this wine bar is so indulgent. They sell wine in ounces - you can choose how tipsy you want to get and how poor before you get on the plane. But this nice couple next to me- about my age and obviously in love or posing in love ordered a $24 blob of tuna tartar and two glasses of Rose and I just loved it. There is something so comforting in American excess. But airport bars always remind me of Joni Mitchell and that wonderful song she wrote about the Priest...The Priest sat in the airport bar he was wearing his father's tie...she touches the transience - it is palpable. and I feel sitting here drinking 5 oz. of way too expensive white wine that I exist most truthfully in airports where transition is the norm and I can feel kinda proud that I am going to Central and Eastern Europe to make and teach theatre for social justice. Nobody in New York may care, but here in this airport drinking wine by the ounce and listening to the music of my heartbeat, I am interesting and purposeful. I wish I had a nice grey haired husband like the lady sitting next to me but in lieu of him, it is right now perfectly fine to be alone. I feel hopeful that I will find something on this trip that cracks open my mind and fills my heart with new learning. But for the moment I think I will order three ounces of Rose and some 12 dollar olives.