I’m on a night flight from Chicago to Phoenix. This is the fifth time I’ve been at Chicago O’Hare airport this summer. I am listening to country music that’s getting piped through my armrest. I have a window seat and I have a view of the city lights beneath me.

Today was the second day of the 10th-year anniversary party for Life Teen at St. John’s in Westminster, Maryland. This afternoon I gave a talk to the teenagers and we had a lot of fun. A few of the folks in the crowd I saw last week when I was in Massachusetts, and here they are again, but this time in Maryland. After the talk we all stepped outside and had a good time visiting. It’s a big job to remember 100,000 faces I’ve met on the road. I truly do have wonderful experiences with people, I just can’t remember them all.

Once at my gate at the Baltimore airport, I hid in the corner and called my mother. I’ve been around new people for the past four days, and I just wanted to hear a familiar voice.

Half of my life is sitting with strangers in airport terminals. Everyone is anxious and pushy; it’s just not a pleasant place to be. The only happy time in the airport is when people arrive and their friends and family give ‘em hugs. But I only see that for fifteen seconds before I step outside to the curb and wait for the bus. I step onto the bust and I sit down next to more strangers until we escape into the parking lot.

I get in my car and make the sign of the cross. (As much as I travel, I am thankful every time I make it home safely.) I am too tired to pray any more than that, so I just turn my key and drive home.