Emily
Westaby Polsley

I walked in the door from my latest trip and immediately sneezed. My first thought, "This is it. I'm finally allergic to staying home."

It wouldn't be so ludicrous. I felt the pull of the new and distant since I was toddling around in pre-TSA airport terminals, watching planes take off and land, just so my mother could get a break from chasing me.

If I wasn't scanning the sky, I was dancing through the lobbies of the grand dame hotels downtown after ballet rehearsals at the theater, crashing on velvet cushions and marveling at the guests wandering underneath the chandeliers.

Cut to my professional and personal life, and when I'm not working with luxury hotels and travel companies on a new campaign, I'm turning down the pilot I married for a ride in his Stinson L-5 "Gracie" (I don't trust her just yet) or hopping another standby flight with my two small children. My mission: make new air, flavors and languages the norm, with the promise of friends no matter where we land.