How I Found Zen Between Gate C and Terminal 5

Flying used to feel like a stress marathon: rushing, queuing, lugging bags, and the constant hum of announcements drilling into my brain. Then I realized the real work wasn’t in the air but in the waiting—in the liminal spaces between takeoff and touchdown.

Now, I find my calm in little rituals: a slow stretch by the gate, headphones on with a favorite playlist, a deliberate sip of lukewarm coffee, even a few deep breaths while watching the fluorescent ceiling tiles. These aren’t grand moves—more like tiny anchors that remind me I still exist beyond the boarding pass.

I try to switch off my phone when the seatbelt sign flickers on. No emails, no scrolling. Just space to think, watch clouds, or scribble a quick poem in my notebook. And in hotels, I unpack my slippers first, making a small corner feel like home, no matter the city or timezone.

It’s not about escaping travel chaos, but finding balance inside it. Airports don’t own me. I own my moments between gates—and that’s where I recharge.