Will Play for Travelers
There is a special kind of chaos that exists inside an airport. It’s a mix of rolling suitcases, frantic gate changes, and the heavy, invisible weight of thousands of people in transition—some flying toward sun and rest, some potentially navigating the hardest days of their lives. There is a symphony of real-life sounds as well: a child crying or laughing, waves of both easy and urgent conversations, the sudden sound of an alarm, and the steady hum of a cart cruising by. There are dogs—cats even—and voices from every direction. It all comes together in a chorus of noise that is unmistakably “the airport.”
Some days I am in the middle of that rush, sitting at the piano.
I’m part of the Gigs4U roster, a community of musicians who provide the soundtrack for SeaTac’s travelers and other spots around Seattle. When I first started what feels like my residency at SeaTac, I was still finding my footing. For most of my career, I had always hired pianists to back me up when I sing. But I’m stubborn—I wanted the independence of playing for myself. I didn’t grow up with my hands on the keys; I only really took up the piano about ten years ago. Oy! I have small fingers and horrible eye-hand coordination.
For the last five years, this gig at SeaTac has been my greatest teacher. It can be quite humbling, and there have been moments of fear and frustration; but what started as a challenge to become a “solo artist” has slowly transformed into something far more sacred to me. I have come to realize that I’m not just providing music; I’m providing space for a deep breath. Most days, when I sit down to play and sing, I feel a spiritual shift in myself. Despite the fluorescent lights and the overhead announcements, I travel away into my work. It’s a strange, beautiful irony: I feel more centered in the middle of an airport terminal than almost anywhere else.
It has become a bit like church for me.
Human Connection in a Digital World
I’ve had so many people stop—sometimes with tears in their eyes—to tell me that a specific song helped them through a difficult layover or a heavy heart. In a world where we worry about our careers being threatened by AI, these moments remind me of a fundamental truth: algorithms can’t hold space for a stranger.
An AI can generate a melody, but it can’t look a weary traveler in the eye and offer a shared moment of grace. It can’t feel the tension in the room and soften its touch on the keys to meet the mood (at least not yet). That raw, personal human connection is something that will always win.
The Journey Continues
Twice a month, I get to be the “calm in the storm.” I’m still that stubborn person who decided to learn piano in her adulthood, but now, those keys aren’t just a tool for my independence—they are a bridge to yours.
Next time you’re passing through SeaTac, I hope you’ll listen for a moment. Not just to hear the music, but to join me in a second of stillness before you head toward your next destination.