Have you ever spent any time thinking about “invitation-only” airport lounges? In my earlier, flashier consulting days my gold frequent flier status actually meant a lot to me. I loved whipping out my card at the counter, grabbing a copy of the Economist and giving sophisticated nods to other “suits” in the lounge. If there was a delay, we’d roll our eyes at each other as if to say “Isn’t it just scandalous being so young, glamorous and successful”. Now I have a few more years experience under my belt and no frequent flyer status to speak of. I lug my laptop around the airport to kill the pre-board hour, I sit waaay up back, there’s no complimentary hot towel and nobody greets me by name. I’m anonymous, 100% economy class.

At first, as ridiculous as it sounds, it bothered me. My more senior colleagues have the lounge passes, get the VIP treatment and I dread the moment when we clear security and they head for the lounge. They often joke that all decisions are made in the lounge so I’m missing out. Up until yesterday I suspected I was.

Nothing dramatic or special happened. I was simply flying back from London, sitting in the aisle seat just behind business class, studying the suits in the rows ahead before they closed the curtains. My eyes followed a young, arrogant looking Dutch guy in a sharp Italian suit. He made a big fuss about hanging his coat up properly, patronized the air hostess and looked around every 20 seconds to make sure everybody knew he was in Business Class. In his expression I could see the 13 year nerd he was at high school. I felt sorry for him realizing that no matter how well he dresses or how big his seat is he can’t shake that chip on his shoulder, the desperate need to prove he’s made it. I then realized how clever the airlines are and how utterly ridiculous we are. Is that 10cm bigger seat and free drink really worth double the price? Why is it that even in the most unlikely places we’ll do or pay anything to distinguish ourselves from the pack.

I’ve been thinking lately about conversations held long ago with girlfriends in Canberra. We would linger in cafes til the early hours of the morning philosophising about everything from the pointy shoe to the whether true happiness is ever attainable. Obviously I was wrong about the point, it’s been here for 5 years now and isn’t going anywhere fast. It’s not such a surprise. I often end up wearing the very things I mock people about when I first see them wearing it. The whole happiness thing is another story. Being practical girls we used to break it down into three areas. Love life, career and friends. We all agreed that two, maybe even two and a half, can be sailing along nicely yet there is always one that remains issue ridden. You know what I mean. A great boyfriend, friends but your boss is a nightmare? A great boyfriend, career but you’ve got no time for your friends? We’d derived all sorts of interdependencies and equations that explained every situation and I really truly believed it. So now, you can imagine my disbelief as I sit here in the dark office satisfied that my efforts today were both appreciated and valuable. Could it be that I’ve managed to hit all three at once?? I thought “enjoying” your work was only for rockstars and supermodels.