Red's Wrap
Happiness. It's relative.
Aftermath
I’m not afraid of flying. I’m afraid of leaving a mess.
Ever since I invented a mantra for myself to say during take-off, I’ve been fine with flying. I start reciting the phrases as the plane roars down the runway and only stop when we are completely in the air. What happens later isn’t covered by the take-off mantra and that worries me a little. Turbulence and landing are crap shoots.
So while I’m not really worried about flying, I still spend the night before any trip in a state of deep worry. I worry that if something terrible happens to me, no one will remember where I hide my good jewelry. I worry that my password cheat sheet isn’t current. I worry that the attic is a nightmare. I worry that my old lover’s letters are still up there. I think. I’m not sure. I worry that my children will stand in my office and start screaming.
A few mornings ago, my husband told me about a dream he’d had the night before. He said we were together on a plane that was slowly descending toward a body of water. When the plane came to rest on the water, he opened the door and swam around to the plane’s nose, knocking on the windows to the get the pilots’ attention. He saw our older daughter, the pilot, slumped over the wheel unconscious, and her younger brother, the co-pilot as it were, trying to revive her. I took the dream as catastrophic. He said it wasn’t because we floated and the pilot, our daughter, finally woke up. Did that mean that she was able to take off, speeding across the water? Would I have had to say my mantra? He didn’t have answers.
I’d like to get my life so in order that it could be contained in a small suitcase I could leave on the front porch every time I go fly somewhere. I owe that to the clean-up crew, aka my children.They shouldn’t have to untangle the 10,000 knotted necklaces that are my life. If I had things tidied up and packed in a rolling bag, I could be free of worry. Carefree, even. Imagine that.
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Photo: Arnold Lee
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Snow Door | wisconsinacademy.org
Listen to Jan read her essay “Billy” presented on WUWM’s Lake Effect
Jan’s essay “At the Breakfast Bar” on WUWM Lake Effect
Jan’s essay “The Parish Hall,” on WUWM Lake Effect
“Fury Cannot Touch Me,” Modern Love, NYT, 9/29/11
Ah… Jan … Great paragraphs, as usual. My favorite image is “to untangle the 10,000 knotted necklaces that are my life.” When expressing similar “worries” to my children, one replied, “Don’t worry Mom, we’ll just get a dumpster.” (which, of course, led to another worry …)
I apologize. To the shower for not scrubbing it often enough, to the birds for not having enough feed for them in this difficult, dry, hot summer. I apologize the my son for the burden I am not yet but will probably become. To Garry for trying to make sure he knows enough to manage without me, and to him for hoping I go first because I don’t think I can manage without him. Worries and apologies, all the same.
Don’t get me started….
Reblogged this on Red's Wrap.
I personally am terrified of flying. I have to go to my “happy place” even the night before the flight otherwise I won’t sleep. I don’t think it is necessarily the thought of crashing that scares me, its that I’m not in control of my motion. Movies and on flight beverages are the only things that help.
I hope you can conqueror your fear of flying and having a support system helps. My understanding is that flying is a safe form of travel.
I worry I won’t have spoken the ultimate message to my children that I will forever want them to remember, to motivate them to be strong, focused, and true to themselves. I wish to leave them so many words of wisdom so they know what I stood for and can always refer to them throughout their life, especially in times of uncertainty. Thanks for sharing this! I don’t like the thought of loose ends either.
My worry is that I will be missing in Europe and the media will use my passport picture on national news. That is worth a worry. My passport is up for renewal, so i must keep taking new pictures til I get one that is worth being on NBC with Lester.