This week’s corporate warrior odyssey started in Centennial, Colorado — a place where I met the legends themselves: Bo Bear, Camper, and Zo. We shook hands, swapped corporate jargon, and shared more lukewarm coffee than any human should consume in one sitting. I was the first to arrive at the Denver airport, smugly certain I’d be the first home to my mountain state sanctuary.
Fast-forward seven hours and I’m the last one standing… in SLC… for the eighth time this year. After the seventh layover, I swore I’d start documenting my Salt Lake sagas. Well, here we are.
This time? No hotel. Instead of taking a rideshare into the city to do “something cultured,” I’ve opted for the minimalist traveler’s approach: lurking in the salt marshes surrounding the airport.
It’s peaceful in a “did I just hear a chupacabra?” sort of way. A suspicious heron keeps side-eyeing me, possibly judging my life choices. I swear I saw a raccoon wearing a discarded Delta Sky Club lanyard. At one point, I’m pretty sure a family of ducks was holding an intervention for me: “You could have gone downtown. Why are you here?”
The marsh air is oddly therapeutic. I watch the runway lights twinkle in the distance like the world’s most expensive Christmas display. My phone buzzes — it’s Bo Bear texting, “Already home. How’s SLC?” I reply with a picture of the heron. No words. Just pure marsh mood.
Tomorrow, I’ll fly home. Probably. But for now, the salt marsh and I share a mutual understanding: we’ll both be here again soon.
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