The Joy of Not Understanding

Standing in line in the international Terminal at JFK, I am the only white person in a cacophony of non-English languages.

It’s a beautiful thing for my brain to get to stretch and struggle as it listens in on consonants and vowels that I don’t understand.

It’s important to be the outsider in this sea of similarities, with a glimpse of how it can feel to be the “other” in the homogeneous spaces that I often occupy.

How fun to see the styles, snacks and sacks that are different than mine, telling a story in a glimpse of each person who also awaits this long flight.

I cherish the opportunity to soon land on a different continent, being at the mercy of kind and generous hosts. To be reminded both of the ease of my bubble and the beauty that lies beyond it. And, in this time of grotesque American Nationalism, to savor the diversity of humanity.