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I have recently become a fan of flying. Well, not the flight exactly, but the ease with which planes allow us to travel across this beautiful country in three hours to see my family in the Midwest. I have calculated the number of flights per day and the number of airports and decided that “Yes”, it really is the safest, quickest way to travel.
I have also mastered the carry-on only for a weekend that easily slips into the overhead compartment allowing me to grab it and go- straight to my destination. I love efficiency and have been able to streamline the process giving me more time and energy at my chosen destination. I am a planner, an organizer, and an on-time person. Flying works for me.
So with the bag rolling at my side, I happily anticipated the wonderful time I was sure I was about to have when I boarded a plane at noon on a Friday. Although the trip would only be four days,  I planned to live the hell out of those days and come home lighter, happier, and soul-filled.
Aside from a few bumps along the way, my flight was uneventful, and my sense of elation grew with every mile. The pilot announced we would land about fifteen minutes early as I settled in for our descent. When suddenly,
“Attention passengers, there is a microburst (a strong wind storm) in Denver, and they are shutting down the airport.”
I felt a little air leave my lungs, and my smile dropped a little as I projected that I would have to wait a bit longer wait to get the hug that awaited me. But what is a few moments longer?
“We were going to circle for 30 minutes until either the airport reopened or “we ran out of gas.” I was sure it would only put us back 15 minutes. But, as the 30-minute marker approached,  once again, the captain said, “We are indeed running out of gas. We will quickly stop in Colorado Springs to refuel and then on to Denver.
I liked the words “quick stop.” I could handle waiting a tad bit longer. I even consoled my brain by reminding myself that they both work until 5:30, so this will work out better anyway. I would still be there by dinner.
The audible groans and sighs from the passengers around me suggested that everyone’s plans were changing, and no one was happy about it.
I was determined not to let this unwanted day affect the rest of my trip. I could have been angry. I could have cried, but would any of those emotions change the events?  No. it didn’t matter. So maybe dinner will be a bit late. I still had three days left.
 I arrived, hungry and tired, to a plate of food on the table. Let the weekend festivities begin.
Days later, I was telling a friend about the trip, and I did not even mention the delay, the stress of being stuck, or the time wasted. I recalled the warm dinner, the beautiful hike, the laughing, and the fun.
“Shit happens,” yet it’s what you do with the inconveniences that speak to the person you are.  I probably could have allowed life and altered plans to ruin the whole weekend, but they were just insignificant things that happened. I chose the high road, the happy place, and as Robert Frost so aptly says, “and it made all the difference.”
How many of us have allowed a change of plans or an unexpected turn to ruin the rest of our day or week? What if you tried a new approach? What if you became the calming, reassuring voice that helped others find their breath too?

 

I was recently gifted a small brass statue of the goddess Lakshmi. I am sure many of you have seen her before. She is the woman with four arms sitting in lotus style who appears in many Indian prints, pictures, and images. As a thank you for a successful collaboration, the friend who gave me the gift introduced her as the goddess of wealth, prosperity, and success. He said, “She reminds me so much of you.” Was he saying I was goddess-like? I flippantly asked if I was given a goddess with many hands because I am so good at juggling multiple projects. He smiled, I smiled, and we ended the conversation.
I took her home and read as much as possible to figure out why this person chose this particular give for me. I learned that many refer to her as the goddess of abundance. Yet, when I think of abundance, I see those that have so much it is overflowing. It’s a term saved for the uber-wealthy or super-successful. I am neither of those.
So now she sits on my windowsill in the kitchen, watching me, tempting me to see and understand her purpose. I can feel her presence while I’m making dinner or just simply stopping in the middle of the day to pause and have a cup of tea. She tells me I need to stop, reflect, and seek answers to the questions I didn’t even know I needed to ask.
Perhaps my goddess and I do have something in common. I do have a wealth of love that surrounds me. My “people” love me for the unfiltered version of me that I only show to those near and dear. Even when I spew the truth, though sometimes hard to take, they return and ask for more. I often hear how refreshing it is to be around someone unafraid to speak her mind and rock the boat. My boat is always rocking.
I have recently taken to responding to the question of what I do with the statement, “I try to make people happy.” You can imagine the strange looks I get. But in reality, all the jobs I do, whether teaching, counseling, or writing, serve the same goal. Finally, instead of seeing multiple hands for multiple tasks as a burden, I can see it as a way to touch more people. I hope that my words and help will make someone else’s life a bit better. Is this the abundance that I share?
My gift-giver may not have been so wrong in bestowing on me the first of the goddess, Lakshmi. My mistake was applying too literal or material a definition to the concept of abundance.
My family often teases me and calls me “Princess.” I was the youngest of three girls and maybe a little bit spoiled growing up. But I think I will change that, and from now on I will ask that they refer to me as “Goddess.” If it is good enough for Lakshmi, it is good enough for me.