Last night, I was happy to be home. Ecstatic. After a long day of travel, a four-hour layover, and the roughest turbulence I have ever experienced—passengers were crying and I felt like I was riding the Texas Giant circa 1998—I was glad to be on the ground and walking toward baggage claim. Following the line …
I, like so many people, didn't know how long we'd be staying at home when the world began to close its doors. On March 12, I began what would become a year-and-counting of being away from normalcy and I made a decision on that day that I'd keep a digital journal throughout the year. Some …
I’m on a plane headed to Los Angeles, in the very back row with my dog Joey at my feet in his bag he hates. He’d prefer to sit in a person seat. Or in my lap. Wherever is most inconvenient for me, that’s the place that suits him best. He hates flying. He hates …
On my flight back to America from Israel, a small brunette girl in a unicorn t-shirt put her plastic box of markers in the back pocket of the seat in front of her while she colored in her book. Though they weren’t actually markers, they were clear plastic pens in various hues of landscapes and …
The curtains are closed as I enter. All around, frenetic energy pulls at my attention like a toddler pulling at mom’s shirt. Some people are in their seats, others stand, their conversations growing louder and softer like waves toppling onto the beach, yet I remain focused on the curtains, on what’s behind them, on what’s …
Ryan Brinson 