Traveling has to be hard.
That was the thought that had been circling my head all morning, with the faint buzz of a fly that goes unnoticed at first.
Now I’m standing in the Qantas check-in line, which hasn’t moved much in the last hour. With every minute that passes, the tension mounts, as air-bus passengers bound for LA and Hong Kong awkwardly shuffle their belongings up and down the roped corridor and wonder if they’ll even get to the counter before their flight departs.
With me are 2 huge suitcases that may or may not be over regulation weight, 2 carryons, and 2 loved ones to see me off. I’m starting to worry that I won’t make it. I’m worried that the ticket agent will try to charge me extra for my heavy bags. I worry that there are no aisle seats left to claim. I worry that my carryon is too cumbersome for me to manage on the long trip. I worry about my mom being sad because I’m leaving, about saying goodbye to her and to Steve, about the finality of parting physically with those I love and how geographical distance can be such profound distance, and about whether or not my love can endure that distance and about what will happen once I’m– And I’m worried that I won’t get to worry about any this stuff, because I might just miss my flight, waiting in this line.
I sigh and push my hair back into a bun for the 10th time in just as many minutes. This stress feels familiar, like something I should be feeling. Because traveling is hard, and we all know it. Right?
Suddenly I hear the fly. You know what that’s like – the moment when you finally hear the fly buzzing, or the neighbor’s dog barking, and you realize the noise has been going on for quite some time, but you’ve just now become aware of it.
I straighten up and watch the fly circling. “Traveling has to be hard.” Does it? “It’s impossible to travel with ease and comfort.” Is it? I close my eyes, go into a theta state, and clear these beliefs. I download myself with what it feels like to travel with ease, comfort and class, to know that traveling can be easy, to know what it feels like to arrive where I need to with plenty of time to spare. As I open my eyes, there’s a Qantas agent walking towards the stanchions. She opens one of the divides right in front of me and says “Passengers to LA, please come this way.”
About a dozen or so travelers emerge from the winding line with sighs of relief, and shoulders a little less compressed. Within 3 minutes I have a boarding pass in my hand (with an aisle seat), an express pass through customs and security, and my bags checked all the way through to San Francisco (by an agent who so lovingly overlooked the 2kg overage of my big yellow suitcase).
As I’m loading my bags onto the conveyor I turn to Steve and say, “Did you see that?” He nods vigorously, a broad smile and wide eyes. “Oh yeah. I saw that.” He then quiets and holds my gaze for a minute. “Did you see that? How one person’s awareness just helped all those people?”
april 9, 2013