I was in Group 9, the last group to board the plane because I chose to fly Basic Economy, the cheapest of the cheap tickets one can purchase. What that means is I was not allowed even one carry-on bag for the overhead storage compartment, but was permitted one bag that could be stowed under the seat in front of me. A J. Peterman bag I had been given years ago would turn out to be the perfect size and could contain all I needed for my long weekend trip.
Approaching the line to have my boarding pass scanned for my return trip, I was stopped by an airline employee who inquired whether I was traveling alone, which I thought was apparent since no one was standing near me. Thinking that was the last required question before boarding the plane, the employee said, "You can't take all that with you. You're going to have to check your bag."
Maybe because I had talked to my sisters later into the night than we should have or got up way too early to arrive an hour before the flight was scheduled to take off and then had to wait over another hour because the flight crew had not shown up on time, I was less prepared to deal with this sort of treatment. Or maybe it was actually a good thing that I was forced to defend myself, since I often let others treat me in ways that are not deserving or even kind. I explained that everything had been fine on my previous flights and I could not understand what could be the problem now. The additional bags in question were a small purse with a long strap I was wearing over my dress and the mysterious cloth bag I was carrying which contained the scrapbook I had made from my trip to Africa earlier in the summer, which I had taken to my family reunion. Fine. I set down my travel bag, took out the water shoes I had worn the day we went canoeing, shoved each shoe in a pocket of the bag, took off the small purse, placed it in the larger bag and started to make my way again toward the gate.
"You can't take THAT on the plane," this airline employee persisted, pointing to my scrapbook cleverly disguised as extra luggage in a cotton tote bag in which it was the only item, except for the piece of chocolate I was saving and my flight itinerary. Feeling anger rising, I simply revealed the contents of the bag and said, "This is a BOOK," as though I were introducing the concept to this person for the very first time. Though I was prepared to take it out of the cotton bag, fold up the bag, put it in the travel bag, and simply carry the notebook as the non-luggage item that it is, another airline representative, perhaps realizing I was not going to pay extra for luggage no matter what, said I could have it and waved me through the door and onto the plane. He apparently had the wisdom to know there is never a good reason to argue with a middle-aged woman, especially about something as inconsequential as this was.
I know air travel is not what it used to be. We now have to practically undress as we reveal our hygiene products in the quart-sized plastic bag. I did not even know that it had been my Birkenstocks setting off every security alarm I have gone through in my travels until this trip. The airline representative wanted to know what else was on my person that could be setting off the alarm. I pointed to my earrings. My glasses? He asked what was in my pockets. I had taken out the lone tissue. It was just me, my underwear and not even the underwire bra, and my summer dress. I had even taken off the thin cotton scarf when the airline employee running the scanner had asked what it was. I had told her it was a scarf. She asked what was in the suspicious cotton bag. I told her it was a notebook. She said all electronics needed to be taken out. I said it was a paper notebook. Scarves and books made out of paper--who has ever heard of these things?
"The world is a cynical place filled with tough customers," is the line from the Jerry Maquire movie that comes to mind. I know bad things have happened aboard planes and more bad things may undoubtedly happen in an infinite variety of ways. I know that though I am one of the least suspicious people boarding the plane, perhaps that makes me the most likely to do something unexpected. I know that rules need to be followed, like when we were asked to leave the pool area while trying to have a picnic with my parents at their retirement community because the thunder of the fast-approaching storm had already begun. We asked for permission to use one of the meeting rooms in their community center to continue our lunch and were given the go-ahead. But the gate was locked before we could use it which left us walking through a room that was being set up for an event later in the day. We were greeted by a woman at the door saying, "We said you could come in but you weren't supposed to use this door." But we did have to use it. The other one was locked. I would find out later that this same woman had grabbed my mother's shoulders to point her in the right direction, perhaps giving her a bit of a shove of encouragement to walk a little faster. I could not imagine why my mother would be treated so abruptly in her own retirement community, a place offering toilet seat cleaning tissues in the ladies' room for the hyper particular. It wasn't that I wanted to buck the system as much as I expected common decency. Respect? Kindness?
Before I had taken the trip I had been told that someone who used to do work for our agency had reached the point in which he could no longer imagine life the way he needed it to be and he decided to check out--permanently. It is always a shock when this happens, whether it is someone known personally or someone famous like Kate Spade or Anthony Bourdain. I am not going to say I have never had similar thoughts including those like George Bailey in It's A Wonderful Life, who wondered if the world would have been a better place if he had never been born. But after a summer of dealing with one loss after the next, the thought one day blazed through my head like spiritual lightning: "The world would NOT be a better place without you in it; it would be worse--much, much WORSE!" If nothing else, I am a person who cares. Intentionally. Without thought as to how much it may hurt me to care. I like to think I am not alone in this.
My question used to be much more about me--How am I being treated and why? How is the world receiving me and what should I do differently? But with grief comes a greater understanding of who I am and how I am able to deal with this, who you are and how I can do nothing to determine how you are dealing with this, and where the boundaries need to be. The question then becomes: What can I do to make the world a better place? How can I do my part to make it less cynical and more inviting?
I have wondered what I can say to someone struggling to exist, if I, in fact, even become aware that someone has reached that point. Sometimes there is nothing one can say. The decisions one makes undeniably can cause others a great deal of pain creating more challenges to be worked through and guidance to be sought. To opt out of this kind of suffering is to have "dead people's goals" as one TED talk speaker puts it. Only dead people do not feel pain. There are some wounds that go too deep to ever fully heal, yet life in its abundance can still be lived to the full. It is for each one of us to figure out how.
"I'm glad you're here," is the resounding phrase I keep coming back to. It summarizes what is important. No, you do not understand our luggage requirements, but obviously we can wait while you jam everything into one bag, and by the way, we are glad you are here. No, we don't understand your scarf or your notebook but our scanners have not determined anything harmful about them, and, oh yes, we're glad you're here. No, you didn't come through the correct door but it isn't hurting anyone because the program has not yet started and walking through our room in your swimsuits carrying your lunch in no way affects anything, and we're glad you're here. Life is tough enough without making it tougher. I'm glad you're here.
Approaching the line to have my boarding pass scanned for my return trip, I was stopped by an airline employee who inquired whether I was traveling alone, which I thought was apparent since no one was standing near me. Thinking that was the last required question before boarding the plane, the employee said, "You can't take all that with you. You're going to have to check your bag."
Maybe because I had talked to my sisters later into the night than we should have or got up way too early to arrive an hour before the flight was scheduled to take off and then had to wait over another hour because the flight crew had not shown up on time, I was less prepared to deal with this sort of treatment. Or maybe it was actually a good thing that I was forced to defend myself, since I often let others treat me in ways that are not deserving or even kind. I explained that everything had been fine on my previous flights and I could not understand what could be the problem now. The additional bags in question were a small purse with a long strap I was wearing over my dress and the mysterious cloth bag I was carrying which contained the scrapbook I had made from my trip to Africa earlier in the summer, which I had taken to my family reunion. Fine. I set down my travel bag, took out the water shoes I had worn the day we went canoeing, shoved each shoe in a pocket of the bag, took off the small purse, placed it in the larger bag and started to make my way again toward the gate.
"You can't take THAT on the plane," this airline employee persisted, pointing to my scrapbook cleverly disguised as extra luggage in a cotton tote bag in which it was the only item, except for the piece of chocolate I was saving and my flight itinerary. Feeling anger rising, I simply revealed the contents of the bag and said, "This is a BOOK," as though I were introducing the concept to this person for the very first time. Though I was prepared to take it out of the cotton bag, fold up the bag, put it in the travel bag, and simply carry the notebook as the non-luggage item that it is, another airline representative, perhaps realizing I was not going to pay extra for luggage no matter what, said I could have it and waved me through the door and onto the plane. He apparently had the wisdom to know there is never a good reason to argue with a middle-aged woman, especially about something as inconsequential as this was.
I know air travel is not what it used to be. We now have to practically undress as we reveal our hygiene products in the quart-sized plastic bag. I did not even know that it had been my Birkenstocks setting off every security alarm I have gone through in my travels until this trip. The airline representative wanted to know what else was on my person that could be setting off the alarm. I pointed to my earrings. My glasses? He asked what was in my pockets. I had taken out the lone tissue. It was just me, my underwear and not even the underwire bra, and my summer dress. I had even taken off the thin cotton scarf when the airline employee running the scanner had asked what it was. I had told her it was a scarf. She asked what was in the suspicious cotton bag. I told her it was a notebook. She said all electronics needed to be taken out. I said it was a paper notebook. Scarves and books made out of paper--who has ever heard of these things?
"The world is a cynical place filled with tough customers," is the line from the Jerry Maquire movie that comes to mind. I know bad things have happened aboard planes and more bad things may undoubtedly happen in an infinite variety of ways. I know that though I am one of the least suspicious people boarding the plane, perhaps that makes me the most likely to do something unexpected. I know that rules need to be followed, like when we were asked to leave the pool area while trying to have a picnic with my parents at their retirement community because the thunder of the fast-approaching storm had already begun. We asked for permission to use one of the meeting rooms in their community center to continue our lunch and were given the go-ahead. But the gate was locked before we could use it which left us walking through a room that was being set up for an event later in the day. We were greeted by a woman at the door saying, "We said you could come in but you weren't supposed to use this door." But we did have to use it. The other one was locked. I would find out later that this same woman had grabbed my mother's shoulders to point her in the right direction, perhaps giving her a bit of a shove of encouragement to walk a little faster. I could not imagine why my mother would be treated so abruptly in her own retirement community, a place offering toilet seat cleaning tissues in the ladies' room for the hyper particular. It wasn't that I wanted to buck the system as much as I expected common decency. Respect? Kindness?
Before I had taken the trip I had been told that someone who used to do work for our agency had reached the point in which he could no longer imagine life the way he needed it to be and he decided to check out--permanently. It is always a shock when this happens, whether it is someone known personally or someone famous like Kate Spade or Anthony Bourdain. I am not going to say I have never had similar thoughts including those like George Bailey in It's A Wonderful Life, who wondered if the world would have been a better place if he had never been born. But after a summer of dealing with one loss after the next, the thought one day blazed through my head like spiritual lightning: "The world would NOT be a better place without you in it; it would be worse--much, much WORSE!" If nothing else, I am a person who cares. Intentionally. Without thought as to how much it may hurt me to care. I like to think I am not alone in this.
My question used to be much more about me--How am I being treated and why? How is the world receiving me and what should I do differently? But with grief comes a greater understanding of who I am and how I am able to deal with this, who you are and how I can do nothing to determine how you are dealing with this, and where the boundaries need to be. The question then becomes: What can I do to make the world a better place? How can I do my part to make it less cynical and more inviting?
I have wondered what I can say to someone struggling to exist, if I, in fact, even become aware that someone has reached that point. Sometimes there is nothing one can say. The decisions one makes undeniably can cause others a great deal of pain creating more challenges to be worked through and guidance to be sought. To opt out of this kind of suffering is to have "dead people's goals" as one TED talk speaker puts it. Only dead people do not feel pain. There are some wounds that go too deep to ever fully heal, yet life in its abundance can still be lived to the full. It is for each one of us to figure out how.
"I'm glad you're here," is the resounding phrase I keep coming back to. It summarizes what is important. No, you do not understand our luggage requirements, but obviously we can wait while you jam everything into one bag, and by the way, we are glad you are here. No, we don't understand your scarf or your notebook but our scanners have not determined anything harmful about them, and, oh yes, we're glad you're here. No, you didn't come through the correct door but it isn't hurting anyone because the program has not yet started and walking through our room in your swimsuits carrying your lunch in no way affects anything, and we're glad you're here. Life is tough enough without making it tougher. I'm glad you're here.
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