From Here to the Airport is the Hardest Part

May 10, 2010 - Jan Fabry
One of the few television-impressions I remember from my youth is an interview with Jacques Brel on his career and his quest.

I was (and still am) impressed by the throwing-yourself-under-the-bus attitude that Brel exerts. In any song, interview or movie with Brel you cannot help being moved by his fire. The energy approaches  you like the outbursts of a volcano: threatening and fascinating at the same time.

In this particular interview Brel is asked about his song ‘la quête’ (the quest). He ends up talking about journeys and changes. He explains that when he goes to Tokyo it is not the travel from Brussels airport to Tokyo that is tough, nor the number of hours of the flight.

It is leaving my house, getting into the car and going to the airport which is the hardest part. Something within you dies.
That is the hard part of change: leaving something known and familiar behind when you have not yet fully embarked upon what is ahead of you. A part of you dies from your house to the airport. And you are vulnerable and numbed by sadness the moment you step on that big airplane.

One of my friends clearly remembers driving to the hospital with his wife to give birth to their second child. They then realized that for their first child life would never be the same anymore. They were saddened by the realization that they would never be the one and only devoted parents for that one and only child. Life is an endless circle of dying and being born again.

Sadness. Tears. Letting go.
Right before exciting things are about to happen.

It seems like the human condition requires us to open up some valves before letting bigger things in.
A kind of widening of the soul. I look back at those openings of sadness with precision and awe – they somehow have enriched and deepened my experience of life.