There's a specific productivity that only shows up in transit, and I've stopped resisting it. Something about the anonymity of an airport, the fact that no one there expects anything of you beyond boarding on time, seems to loosen whatever usually keeps me circling a paragraph instead of finishing it. I wrote more today, waiting four hours for a delayed flight, than I managed in the previous week at my actual desk. I don't fully trust this pattern. I intend to keep exploiting it anyway.