Gateways and Goodbyes: Airports and the Third Culture Heart
In a life shaped by movement, airports have been the closest thing to a constant. As a third culture kid, I came to know them not just as transit points, but as emotional markers—places where identity shifts, endings meet beginnings, and clarity often arrives quietly amid change.
Airports as Familiar Ground
I dropped a friend off at the airport recently, and something about that quiet moment of parting stirred a deeper reflection. I kept thinking not just about our time together, but about the airport itself. How strange it is that a place so defined by motion can feel so familiar. For me, it has always been more than a stopover—it’s been a recurring character in the story of my life.
As a third culture kid, airports were one of the few constants. Before I had the language to describe what it meant to grow up between cultures, I had already learned to find comfort in the rituals of departure gates and arrival halls. I understood the choreography of checking in and letting go. I recognized tearful farewells and quiet reunions, and learned how to hold my own emotions in that suspended space in between.
I still remember the smell of duty-free perfume, the echo of rolling suitcases, and boarding announcements in multiple languages. These became my markers of transition. I didn’t need to stay long to feel at home.
The Symbolism of Transition
To many, airports evoke anticipation or anxiety. For me, they’ve been places of belonging. Or at least, of becoming. They’ve marked every major transition I’ve lived: new countries, different schools, shifting roles, new versions of myself. Some goodbyes were welcome, others reluctant. Some arrivals felt like homecomings. Others, like starting over—again.
Over time, I realized airports gave me something I didn't always find elsewhere: coherence. There’s a strange clarity in movement, a structure to change. You don’t have to explain why you’re leaving or arriving. That sense of forward motion has stayed with me, both personally and professionally.
When Transitions Become a Way of Life
That early comfort with change shaped how I approach work and identity. It’s no coincidence that I’ve built a career defined by pivot points. Some call it a portfolio life—a career shaped not by one path, but by many chapters that reflect who you are and who you’re becoming. Every role I’ve taken, every country I’ve called home, has added another layer to my story. Each chapter has been a deliberate response to the moment I was in, grounded by a common thread: a commitment to meaningful connection and clarity through transition.
The instinct to navigate ambiguity with calm and context—and the understanding that you can belong in motion—carries into how I lead and support others through periods of change. I've found that these skills resonate beyond the third culture experience. Whether you’re navigating a career shift or personal change, the ability to listen for what’s unspoken, ask thoughtful questions, and hold space for uncertainty can create surprising clarity. It allows understanding to emerge without rushing to resolution. Having grown up navigating in-between places, I’ve learned to see transitions as opportunities for growth and understanding.
Holding a Sense of Self in Motion
Living between cultures often meant I wasn’t easily placed. That in-between can be disorienting, especially when the world wants you to be from somewhere, to stay somewhere, to choose one lane. But over time, that space has become a source of strength. As I wrote in an earlier reflection, not fitting neatly into one culture is what makes me unique. Each transition hasn’t erased what came before; it’s added to it. And with each shift, I've deepened not just my professional skills, but my capacity for empathy, perspective, and reinvention.
Airports remind me that endings and beginnings can happen in the same breath. Clarity doesn’t always come before a decision. Sometimes, it meets you while you’re already moving. Maybe that’s the heart of it. Airports have taught me to be okay with not knowing—to hold space for the grief of parting and the quiet hope of possibility, at the same time.
Still Becoming
This is something I carry through life. Whether mentoring, building community, or navigating the next shift, I’ve learned that transitions aren’t side notes. They shape who we become and how we move through the world. And if we’re lucky, they help us find a kind of home. Not defined by location, but in the clarity of motion itself.
As I left that airport, I felt the familiar ache of distance settling in. But I also felt something else. Recognition. Not just of the terminal, but of the space it has always held for me. A place that has witnessed so many of my hellos and goodbyes, and the versions of me that came with each. The strength that comes not from staying rooted, but from learning how to carry a sense of self through every gate.
Maybe that’s why airports always feel like home. Not because they offer answers, but because they’ve taught me to keep becoming. And perhaps in sharing this reflection, I'm reminded that while our transitions may look different, we're all navigating our own departures and arrivals—finding ways to carry ourselves through change while remaining true to who we are becoming.
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