Both this week and next, I am traveling. After some rocky airport travel this past summer which included 4 attempted flights, 36 hours to get from Charlotte, North Carolina to Seattle and a night slept on the floor of the airport, I am not too thrilled about being back at the scene of the crime.
As I stand in the security line for what seems like an hour, there is woman who each time we pass each other in the winding line, she complains under her breath-- mumbling to no one but herself about the length of the line, how she’s going to be late for her flight (she wasn’t, I saw her later) and sighing the most irritating of sighs. I am grateful for the reprieve between each pass. That sort of attitude doesn’t help anyone. I see it spread from her to those around her with a general malaise and discomfort.
I don’t want to be that woman.
And I do not want to focus on her.
I look around for someone else to watch.
Near the beginning of the line is a family embracing. An older couple has tears in their eyes as they embrace a grown but young daughter? Is she leaving for college? Or her first trip out of the country. The tears are not ones of sadness but pride and love. The mother wipes her eyes with a tissue.
I sense my own eyes fill with tears watching a private moment. Then I laugh at myself, why am I crying!?
A man passing by in his line notices my laugh and smiles back.
There are so many children. Children in front packs, asleep in their daddy’s arms, or wide eyed in strollers, taking in each person that passes. Many are in pajamas. I delight in the fashion show of footsies and pink frills and one little boy in Buzz Lightyear pjs.
I try to place the languages I hear as the line wraps around. Spanish, yes, and Chinese and a beautiful man with an East African accent talking to his son who looks just like himself. Same profile and the way they hold themselves. They are gorgeous.
I was eighteen before I left my home state of California. And twenty-five before I ever flew in a plane. As I remember this, I think to myself something my friend Priya always says, “these are problems of abundance.” My life is full and good and that I can even get from Charlotte to Seattle in 36 is a little miracle unto itself.
When I pass security, I find each small pleasure I find a blessing. A clean bathroom. A fountain to fill my water bottle. A short coffee line. Everything seems a gift. Abundance.
thanks for the reminder as I travel next week, positive attitude always help, thanks for your joy
Great reminder to focus on the good. We live a life of abundance. Thank you very much.