Waiting

There are two speeds in airports:  super-fast and complete stand-still.  Right now I am the latter.  Due to the fact that it's January, I scheduled my flight from Chicago to DC with a 5 hour layover before boarding my flight to Ghana.  I anticipated all the things that go along with January in the midwest and mid-Atlantic states -- you know, all those things that hit last week?  Wind, ice, snow, traffic, chaos...and right now, nothing.  It's cold and sunny.  Great flying weather, horrible sitting-in-a-terminal weather.

But it gives one time to think, if one likes to do such a thing.  I can ponder such wonders of science like "why did my little travel pillow deflate?" and "how do flight attendants wear those high heels?" (Better question: "WHY?")  I can ponder the marvels of linguistics and communication, as I eavesdrop on conversations that are in different languages and then turn around and eavesdrop on those same people (in perfect English) ordering grande, skinny, white chocolate mochas from you-know-where. 

I have 4 hours to kill.  An hour ago, this place was jumping.  It was like Frogger, trying to dodge people, bags, wheelchairs, "mind the cart!", strollers, the line at Dunkin' Donuts, people with the deer-in-headlights look, who realized they just passed their gate, the sprinters who realized their gate was changed from gate C-34 to gate C-3, and that flight is now boarding....  all the flurry of activity of realizing that where you are is not where you are supposed to stay.  Airports are clearly not designed for those who are waiting.  I find myself somewhat wishing I smoked so I could hang at the "smokers' lounge."  I haven't found the "I have a 5-hour layover, I don't smoke but I think I saw a Five Guys and now I want a cheeseburger lounge."  So here I sit, across from the Hudson News and a gate with a flight to Pittsburgh, waiting.  The gates all around me are empty, getting ready for the next round.

It's been good to wait -- I've talked to friends and family who have wished me well.  That means so much, as I'm flying solo on this.  I am working with an NGO in Ghana, but the travel is just me and my security object (whom I will introduce in a later post).

Airports are a great metaphor for life, I suppose (but again, EVERYTHING can be a metaphor for life.  It depends on how much you want to stretch it).   We're not where we started out, and yet maybe not where we want to be.  As one who is licensed by the state of Illinois and approved by a national professional organization to help people manage change in their lives and relationships, I have also seen that there are two speeds when trying to change -- HURRY UP and get better, or when will my life ever be different?  It's so difficult to be patient.  I'm living proof of impatience -- just ask my mom.  Change is difficult.  I do realize there are those overnight/answer-to-prayer healings of addiction, hurt, trauma, whatever -- but more often I see change as requiring maneuvering and persistence and courage and stamina that often we don't realize we have. 

At the risk of sounding cliche (and adding to it) -- life's a journey; enjoy the ride.  And find a way to enjoy the waiting.

Now -- I think it's time to hunt down that burger and a football game on TV. :)