I don’t feel lonely. At least not yet anyway. But I am alone. Well sort of. How can one really be alone in the sea of shared human experience that is Heathrow.

This is my first visit to the Terminal 3 outpost. A cosy affair in contrast to its’ more glitzy and glam cousins. So much so that I have opted for the public anonymity of a Starbucks coffee and a seat at the counter rather than the elitist retreat that seasoned travelers like to escape to – the lounge.

I love Brussels has just walked past. Guess she’s been there. Why is she telling me? Should I be impressed? Or perhaps it’s marketing? But wait, I’ve been there – perhaps I should mention it to her?

An elegant lady in an elegant top that reminds her of her trip to NY – but it says Homies, New York. Is she supporting their cause? Or perhaps making a personal anti-establishment statement. Elegantly?

A big guy simply has a T on his chest. Obviously Texas – the font is all cowboy and it’s where everything is bigger – so the body fits. And the bulk is very soft, so that’s in line with the American dream.

No one, absolutely no one has a T shirt that proclaims Heathrow Terminal 3. We aren’t meant to be here – we are meant to be there – we are going somewhere. The majority, like me, are alone. But there are also groups if 2, 3, perhaps 4 bustling in equal confusion. The only ones really engaged with life are the kids. Bouncing and chatting as the move around (non linear of course) with the parents herding them only half effectively. The kids don’t care where they are – the are alive and can move and love the feeling of just being alive – they are in the moment. Jump. Chatter. Run.

The rest of us are nowhere. Trapped between departure and destination. And when we get there we’ll be ok for a while, but soon we’ll we will be on the move to the next destination. Constantly traveling through life. Never living in the moment.

I’ll let you know what I am up to later, but right now I’m off to buy a I ❤️ T3 cap. Which I’ll wear proudly for the next hour!