The Glide

How to move through an airport without letting the airport move through you

Airport. Late June. Late afternoon.

I have a flight to Italy, a wedding waiting for me on the other side of the Atlantic, and a lounge champagne that has clearly seen fizzier days. A Coca-Cola would have been the wiser decision, but at this point I’ve made a commitment.

Around me, the usual airport circus. Half the world seems to be departing at exactly the same moment, the other half is already standing in line ahead of me, and someone is attacking a sandwich with the determination of a medieval siege.

My suitcase is packed.

My documents are in order.

And I am perfectly calm.

Not by accident.

By design.

This is precisely the season for which the Glide was invented.

My regular readers already know this: the Glide is not a walk.

It is the art of moving through complete chaos with such composure that it almost appears choreographed. The ability to remain untouched by the collective panic. To move elegantly while everyone else is rushing, sighing, apologizing, repacking, queueing, and checking Gate B27 for the sixth time.

It is composure, but living composure.

Not rigidity.

Not performance.

Not a carefully rehearsed act that collapses at the first inconvenience.

And here is the truth that ought to appear on the very first page of every passport, immediately after the photograph:

The Glide is never improvised. It is prepared.

Travel elegance is ninety percent what you decided the night before and ten percent how you react when things begin, delightfully, to unravel.

So instead of admiring it from afar, I’m going to teach it to you.

Because today, I’ll be relying on it myself.