I don't always know where I am supposed to be, I am only ever aware of where I am and often where I'd like to be.
Sometimes ... I am completely happy in the moment.
Before Christmas I felt rushed and frantic. I shopped and wrapped packages. I decorated the house. I didn't get around to baking, not even one single cookie. I planned our trip to Utah and I packed for my entire family. I tried to feel excited about Christmas. I tried to become excited about our Utah adventure. Excitement came only briefly on Christmas morning when I saw the happiness in the eyes of my children.
Then ... we hurried to the airport, weighed our luggage, shifted our belongings so each bag was not over the 50 lb. weight limit - ended up with 3 suitcases weighing almost exactly 50 lbs. each - what are the odds of that? Saved us a ton of money not being charged for the extra weight.
I was excited about that.
We boarded the plane to Phoenix - all went well, while I am not a casual flier and frighten myself to death over the least little odd noise or fluctuation in cabin pressure or altitude or tilting of the plane.
We got off the plane in Phoenix and boarded a new plane to Salt Lake City. The pilot immediately informed us that the airport in Salt Lake City was closed - they were having difficulty clearing runways, blah, blah, blah. We took off anyway, much to my confusion and fear! We headed off towards Utah and flew right into the blizzard that would put our plane into a "holding pattern" above the airport for what seemed like an eternity. How I knew we were in a "holding pattern" was because the pilot was so nice as to inform us that this was what was going on - waaaaaay more information than I really needed to know.
While we were flying in circles or figure 8's over the Salt Lake City Airport, I tried hard not to glance out the window. I tried hard not to become panicked. I tried to ignore my children that found the bumpy turbulence entertaining and would pretend they were on a roller coaster ride each time the plane would drop and rise again. I tried not to let my children see terror in my eyes.
I love the snow.
I do not love the snow when it is blowing hard and thick outside the window of a Boeing 737. I could not stop imagining that episode of Twilight Zone (Nightmare at 20,000 Feet) - the one with William Shatner - where he looks out his plane window and sees a little gremlin monster messing with the plane. I could not see out the window - past all the snow, but I still imagined ... monsters and other planes in "holding patterns" above a closed airport with closed runways and planes that would soon run out of fuel and have no where to land, but maybe crash into the side of a Utah mountain or be diverted to a nearby freeway ...
Before the Twilight Zone gremlin had a chance to dismantle any of the plane engines or unbolt a wing from the body of the plane - we suddenly landed. Without warning. Without incident. Safely.
I was excited!
Once on the ground, we made our way through the airport, retrieved our luggage, met our friends and headed towards the car. When we walked through the automatic doors leading out to the parking lot, I could feel the cold. The cold that was a welcome change from the humidity I had left behind in Texas. The cold I had longed for. The cold that enveloped me and seeped quickly through my clothes and into my lungs. The cold that brought all of my senses alive.
It made me smile.
I was excited.
And then ...
I saw the snow.
As if I was like a child.
I was excited ... like I always am when I see snow.
Smell snow.
Touch snow.
I yearn to be near the snow, like I yearn to be lulled into the darkness of a rainy day.
I don't always know where I am supposed to be, but sometimes ... when I am where I need to be ... want to be ... I am completely happy in the moment.
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