Airports encapsulate the intensity of life and our relationships with our close ones.

I get sentimental when it comes to airports. Happiness and sadness. Love and arguments. Separation and reunions. Life in its entirety — it’s just a fleeting moment in the vastness of time and space.

Last night I saw my wife, son, and daughter off at the airport. An ocean now separates us. It’s not a vacation for them but rather a step on a long journey, the details of which I’ll reserve for a different story.

I’ve been through many of these moments — tearful goodbyes and happy reunions. Of course, not every trip to the airport was a life-important event, but some were. Many were. Maybe too many.

My first experience flying was to a place that can no longer be just mentioned — mentioned innocently, without references to recent events. I grew up in Soviet Moscow, and when I was eight years old, we flew to Crimea for vacation. Today there’s a bloody war in Ukraine, which started when Russia annexed Crimea in 2014. Then, in the late 1980s, it was one country. From those summers, I have precious memories. Stepping out at our destination and embracing the hot southern climate. Swimming in the Black Sea. Soaking up the sun. Catching crabs. Smelling cypress trees. Spending time with Dad and Mom, who were relaxed and free from work and chores, like it was one long sunny weekend. That first experience of flying was the happiest of memories.