I spend a lot of time in airports.
And if you pay attention in airports, you see everything.
People struggling in and out of seats. Moving like the body became the enemy somewhere along the way. Going through the motions of travel without any of the motion.
I’ve watched this for years without fully naming it.
Then June 13, 2022 changed that.
I was stranded in Nuremberg with COVID. Mild case, mostly a runny nose and a lot of Kleenex. Didn’t slow me down much. I was taking long walks every day, cappuccino in hand, notepad nearby.
That morning I was sitting by a fountain in a park-like setting outside a mall. Bright sun. Crisp air. Bikes moving past. Pedestrians doing their thing. Early June in Germany is its own kind of alive.
And then he walked by.
Older. Hunched. Moving so slowly it almost looked like reversal.
I wasn’t judging him. I felt sad for him.
And then something shifted, because I realized he wasn’t the first. I’d been watching this for years without knowing what to do about it.
I picked up a guest check, my version of a notepad, and wrote this down:
“I feel sad when I see people that don’t have the quality of youth and no desire to get it back, or the knowledge that they can.”
That last part stayed with me.
No desire. Or no knowledge.
Two very different tragedies.
That morning by the fountain is where “Live Young. Die Old.” stopped being a phrase and became a mission.
One man. Bright morning. Guest check.
That’s usually how it starts.