I didn’t think much of it when I first searched airline tickets from Atlanta to Dallas. Even though just a quick trip, in and out. However, a family thing, my cousin’s baby shower, or gender reveal, or whatever people call those now. Hence, I figured I’d pop in for a weekend, smile for the pictures, eat too many finger sandwiches, and be back in my apartment by Monday morning. Easy.
But life doesn’t usually let things stay easy, does it?
A Flight, Then a Flashback
Scrolling through the options was oddly familiar. Although I used to love the planning, booking, and dreaming part about what seat I’d get. I’m a window person, by the way. I don’t care how short the flight is. I want to see the clouds if I’m paying to float above them.
Anyway, this time, it felt different. Not because of the cost (though wow, ticket prices are testing all our faith lately), but because I realized I hadn’t done this in over a year. A whole year. I, the same girl who used to plan weekend getaways just to escape awkward dinner invites, was suddenly… stuck. Routine. Still.
And weirdly enough, picking out that ticket, sitting in my worn-out hoodie at 2 a.m., made me think about how much had changed. How much I had changed.
It Wasn’t Just About the Ticket
Furthermore, I remember when I used to book through this air ticket travel agency, which my dad swore by. The guy there always acted like I was booking a trip to the moon. “Round-trip to Dallas? That’s a good one,” he’d say, as if I’d picked some secret, classy destination.
Back then, I didn’t think much about the why. I just wanted to go. Somewhere. Anywhere.
Now? After comparing three different flight aggregators, I overthink, I second-guess, and still end up texting a friend to ask if $217 is too much for a 2-hour flight.
But I guess that’s the thing about time; it sneaks in and makes you careful. Maybe too careful.
The Airport Is Still the Same
Hartsfield-Jackson hasn’t lost its touch. You’re standing in line, barely functioning, coffee in hand, wondering why the world does this to itself. And then boom, someone forgets the laptop rule and the whole thing stalls out for ten minutes.
But I didn’t mind this time. Not really. I had nowhere else I needed to be. That’s rare for me.
You know who I ran into near the food court? American Travel Consultants. Not a person, a booth. Like one of those set-ups with giant posters of tropical places and a tired woman who hands out pamphlets no one reads. I paused.
I ended up chatting with the consultant lady for a bit. Her name was Dolores. She had bright red glasses and told me she’d worked there for 12 years. We didn’t talk about flights. We talked about grief. I don’t know how it came up. But it did. And she said, “Sometimes we travel just to remember how to move.”
That stuck with me.
Travel Has Never Been Just Travel for Me
Here’s the thing. I don’t think booking airline tickets from Atlanta to Dallas is just about the travel. Not for me, at least. It’s about pause. Space. Disruption.
Flying is strange like that. You’re not really here or there. You’re just… in between. Between cities. Between thoughts. Sometimes even between the person you used to be and the one you’re becoming. It’s one of the few times in my life when I just sit. And breathe. And notice how weird pretzels taste at 30,000 feet.
Air ticket travel agency guys might sell the ticket, but they’re also selling the possibility. I didn’t see that before.
Same with those American Travel Consultants. They’re not just pointing you to Cancun or New York or even Dallas. They’re reminding you that motion is still possible. And that maybe, just maybe, you’re allowed to change direction.
Coming Home Was the Real Surprise
On the way back, the flight was delayed. Classic. I sat at the gate watching a toddler scream bloody murder while her dad looked ready to disintegrate. I thought about offering help, then thought better of it. Not my circus.
But the delay gave me time to reflect. I realized how long it’d been since I gave myself a break. From trying to be productive. Feeling guilty about not calling people back. And chasing clarity. Whatever that even means.
Booking airline tickets from Atlanta to Dallas turned out to be less about Dallas and more about everything in between. The pause. The shift. The chance to step out of my loop and remember what it feels like to go somewhere, anywhere, even if it’s just for a few days.
So yeah. Next time you find yourself clicking “confirm booking,” maybe don’t rush it. Maybe let the moment breathe. Let it teach you something. Or nothing. Either way, you’ll move.
And sometimes, that’s more than enough.
