I've traveled a lot over the years, saving up all the dollars and vacation days I can manage to embark on solo adventures around the globe.
Whether I've ended up road-tripping through Europe, on a propeller plane in Africa or riding in a Tuk-Tuk in Asia, my exploits often begin and end at LAX, or Los Angeles International Airport—a sprawling, frenetic mass of concrete that represents home to me.
I have a love-hate relationship with the place because, while it marks the beginning of some of my favorite memories, it's also been a source of frustration thanks to hours spent in stuffy car rides as I make the usually hours-long journey between my house and the international terminal.