LGA to ORD: A Meditation on Happiness

One of the biggest challenges in coming back from India is trying to figure out how to hold on to the peace, the love and the light that I found within myself there. How do I maintain this in day-to-day life? How do I continue to find compassion for people when they are rude, inconsiderate and grating? Case in point.

I flew from LaGuardia airport this morning to Chicago's O'Hare. It was another snowy morning, so I expected delays, especially since it's LaGuardia, the bus stop of airports. As is common in the winter, especially in the snow, the plane needed to be de-iced. This, after boarding maybe 35 minutes late. In the grand scheme of things, not a huge deal. And I, for one, am a fan of de-icing the plane. It's this wonderful task that keeps us from not plummeting to our deaths from up in the sky, or from perhaps crashing during takeoff. (I'm not really sure at which point ice effs up your world on a plane, I just know that it does, and therefore, I'd prefer to not have any on my steel tube of flying magic.) Take as long as you need good de-icing sirs, please and thank you. 

We were further delayed because the runway needed to be salted. Again, another standard winter safety precaution to keep us from sliding into the icy East River instead of ascending safely into the morning sky. So, you too salt trucks, take as long as you need. 

Unfortunately, the family of four in the row behind me didn't feel the same way. They were angry that we were delayed, angry that they took time to de-ice the plane, angry that they were salting the runway. "But all of the Southwest planes have left! Why are we still here? This is ridiculous! This airline is terrible!" Followed by sighs, rants of agreement from his two daughters and his wife. The rants were accompanied by the daughter doing god knows what to my seat—playing patty cake perhaps—all before take off. 

I'm pretty sensitive to the energy around me. But pretty much anyone within a ten row radius of this overly aggravated man was likely affected by his vitriol. I could have easily mustered the New Jersey rage inside me and yelled, "Hey fucktard, would you rather your family plummet to their deaths because the plane was not properly de-iced? Were those 20 minutes so important to you that you'd throw safety to the wind?"

I didn't so that, obviously (or maybe not obviously if you've seen me on my bad days). But even thinking of saying those things is a huge disruption of my internal stillness. It's irritation, it's judgement and it's certainly a lack of compassion. So I ask again, how do I hold on to the light and the love I felt for everyone when I was in India? We asked that same question while we were still over there. How do we take what we are learning and how we are feeling back home with us; back home to the tri-state area of all places, land of rage, land of short tempers, land of ruthlessness? 

How do we love when it's easier to hate? How do we stay open when it's quieter, and at times certainly easier, to shut down? How do we find grace and patience when the world is constantly in your face?

I certainly do not have all the answers. So I try to breathe. I try to meditate. I try to remember that feeling of pure love that's deep down inside, that's always accessible if I can just tap into it. I practice. I stay connected to the people who inspire me and understand me and who can guide me—because we're all in this crazy ride together, airplane or otherwise. So let's just get there happily and in one peace, shall we?

The Things I Get Myself Into: A Tale from 30,000 Feet

This morning I was flying to San Francisco for work on a project. I woke up at 4:45 a.m., not from my alarm clock, but from nerves. I had to be out of the door by 5:30 a.m. anyway, but oh how anxious I get when I have to fly. I get to the airport, make it to my gate with twenty minutes to spare, pop a Xanax and get on the plane. 

The plan was to sleep for as much of the flight as possible to compensate for the long hours ahead with a nice layer of jet lag. I made it halfway. Despite my best efforts to go back to sleep, I was awake. "Ok," I thought, "let me dig into my email and see what I can start working on." 

I pull out my laptop and it's covered in...well, goo. Exhausted and sedated for the flight, I'm just utterly confused. But to be fair, if the same thing had occurred at home I'd be just as confused. I smell my hand, which is also covered in goo to find a teriyaki-ish, somewhat sour, something's-definitely-wrong-here kind of smell. That couldn't be good. 

Lucky for this particular situation, I had been sick for a small eternity so I had a lot tissues in my pocket. I began wiping down the laptop wondering what the hell was going on. Once I got the laptop all squared away, I stuck my hand in the computer pouch and encountered more goo. I try to find some sort of explanation. 

The bag had been sitting near the garbage for a week since I had been off. Maybe, somehow, some thai got dumped in it on the way to the garbage. Which would suck. Really, any answer here would suck, because there was some sort of rank goo in my bag. I clean up what I thought, well hoped, was all of it, but figured I'd best make sure. As I shoved my hand into the bottom of the computer pouch, I encountered a handful of the rancid smelling goo. What. The. Fuck. What was possibly going to be in my hand when I pulled it out. And then what? What am I supposed to do with this from an airplane, in a window seat, in the dark. (For whatever reason, not one person on this flight opened their window shade. So the entire flight was lit by some weird 90's pink neon lights, which I guess Virgin finds posh.) 

I grab the plastic case my tissues were in (you know those little travel plastic wrappers) and proceed to pull out a handful of awfulness to put in my tiny makeshift garbage bag. And that's when the goo revealed itself. A completely disintegrated banana. It must have been sitting there since the last time I worked, which was exactly a week ago, and the fruit was in questionable shape then.

I now have a travel tissue pack full of rancid banana and I'm still stuck in my seat because now the seatbelt light is on and some really decent turbulence is starting. Ah, but wait! My one quart bag! I dumped out all of my liquids containers into the middle section of the backpack, and put the mess in the quart bag and sealed it. (Clearly, not checking my bag was the correct choice this morning.) 

Now I have a quart bag full of rancid banana, a backpack that smells like week old garbage and sticky, smelly banana hands. Luckily a stewardess was walking by so I handed her the mess and was later able to get a plastic bag to wrap my computer in. Upon examination in the airport bathroom, I found had removed all the goo and only the smell remained. Small victory. The morning was redeemed, however, when I stopped to get a double double from In 'N Out burger on my way to the hotel. 

So the moral of the story? When life gives you rancid bananas, go get In 'N Out. Or maybe it's something like, don't check your bags when traveling, you never know when you'll need a one quart plastic bag. Or perhaps I just need to remember to check my bag for fruit at the end of each day.