When I was a kid, we used to drive up to the airport every once in a while, to see planes land and take off. Back then, you could stand right next to the glass, almost as if you were like floating over the cars that drove to the planes and back. Each car had a number, like 41, or 55, and I could never really figure out where the rest of the cars were. I mean, who would have a car called "41" if there weren't cares 1-40 as well.
I was back at the
Helsinki airport today. Had a meeting in Stockholm.
Actually, it was a great day. Our meeting went well, I got my hair cut, and I met a bunch of my old colleagues and
friends in the city.
What really made my day, was my travel companion,
Lasse, a real Finnish Guy, if you know what I mean. He's a graphic designer, an illustrator, a teacher and a funny guy who knows a lot about magazines. So, we talked and talked and talked, mostly about magazines. We created at least three new magazine concepts, we discussed the essence of sports journalism, and he was just about to let me in on the secret of great magazine making, as we got to the sliding doors that separate the arriving passengers from the ones left behind.
"And Risto, I really think that the key to making a truly great magazine is..."
Swiiush, the doors opened, and two girls jumped up from the statue they were sitting on.
"THERE HE IS!!!!!!" they screamed and ran to hug Lasse, their Dad.
I never heard what the secret of success in my profession was. But it was OK. I saw a happy family.
Oh, and car # 41.
