On The Road with Story Road
My first blog post! I’m in London in quarantine, a fine time to begin my blog. I want to start from the beginning of my adventure, on June 6th, when I flew out of SFO on my way to Copenhagen for the first time in my life. Being in Denmark was like living in a dream: it was quirky and charming and had elements of a myth (a castle, bison, a church falling into the sea, a meteor that decimated the dinosaurs) which made it feel surreal. The adventure began on Sunday morning, the first weekend in June, with the most fabulous send-off. My dear friends-like family stopped to say goodbye and wish me well. I found myself choking back sobs. What was going on??? I have traveled a ton in my life, so what was different now? Though this was the trip of a lifetime (Denmark, England, Amsterdam, Paris), it was tough to leave. I left a lot behind: my incredible son, his wonderful girlfriend, my friends, my fur babies, my home that is a haven. My gardens were in full bloom and the plum and cherry trees were exploding with fruit that I would not eat. I realized I have achieved a level of safety I did not have for most of my life. When I first left home at 18 years old to travel for nine months, it felt safer to be in a war zone in the Middle East than it did to be at home in Indiana. There were days before this trip when I felt the urge to cancel, stay home in my sanctuary and eat cherries until I couldn’t anymore.
Magnus drove me to the airport. We listened to music. I absorbed the view of the Bay and just reveled in the calm serenity and competence of my 17-year-old son. He drops me at the curb, a few tears roll down my face, and we hug both, knowing there may be an ocean between us, but there’s an ocean of love that carries us. I know; it’s corny. But it’s simply true. We really love each other.
At check-in, I discover that United will not be giving me a boarding pass for my flight's second and third legs, which Lufthansa operates. The woman incorrectly tells me that Lufthansa isn’t open on Sundays at this airport. I figure out they are and wait in line for 30 minutes. The Lufthansa operator tells me that they can’t issue boarding passes from SF when I catch the flight in Denver. He tells me to get my pass from United. Never in my life have I boarded a plane with only one boarding pass for a trip that has 3 legs. I’m freaking out with anxiety, mostly because I’m getting incorrect information left and right. But it’s also compounded by worry about whether or not I will be allowed in Denmark at all. They publish strict warnings on their website. And there’s low-level concern that a last-minute seat assignment means I’ll suffer in a horrid seat for this 10-hour flight. I board my plane to Denver, thinking this is a stinky way to start the trip. But wait! It gets “better”!
We land in Denver at 4:45 pm. I have one hour to get my boarding pass and catch my connection to Frankfurt. It’s raining. It looks beautiful, a gray and dark blue sky with water rolling down the plane window. We sit on the plane. We are maybe 100 feet from the off-ramp. Finally, the captain announces that there was lightning. The crew has been sent inside. We must wait for help to get to the ramp, a few feet away. Yes! So close but still so far. I leave the plane at 5:38 at gate B41. My next plane leaves from gate A14 at 5:45 pm, and the monitors do not say delayed. I start running, and does anyone know the Denver airport? It’s the size of a small city. I run down the concourse, run upstairs, run around another mile-long pathway to a train. I have to go down the escalator to a train, and there’s a Mom and two kids in front of me. I try as calmly as possible to say, excuse me, sorry, I have to get by. My expectation is the family will move to the left so I can pass on the right. Instead, the 7-year-old boy extends his hands across the width of the escalator blocking my way. Excuse me, I say. EXCUSE ME. He doesn’t respond, and I move his hand out of the way. I’m trying to make it sound nice, but I really nudged him aside. I catch a train with seconds left; I run off the train, run up some stairs, run down a new concourse, and find A14. It is empty of passengers. There is a team of 5 staff who see me and yell: TALK TO HER. I run to the counter. Panting. “Passport,” I hand it over. “Vaccine Record,” done. “Negative Covid Test,” done. She gives me my long-coveted boarding pass and says, get on the plane!
All the worry for nothing. It was super breezy getting my boarding pass, and the plane is 1/4 full; I have a gorgeous seat with no one around; in essence, I’m on a small island. And I stink. I could smell the odor of anxiety as I put my bag overhead. I haven’t been stressed like that in a long time. And I pulled out my journal to discern the lessons of the day:
Tolerate not knowing. Crucial life skill.
I worried about the wrong thing. The boarding pass wasn’t the issue; making the connection was. Relax.
It all worked out. Build my trust muscle.
Don’t nudge the kid. I had 14 seconds to catch the train. I could have found another way to get his attention. Oops!
Then I thought to myself; these might be my lessons for the whole trip. Little did I know that these were all omens of what was to come.
There was a deeper revelation that haunts me. Self-doubt. As I struggled with the anxiety of the trip, I found myself saying, “I made a bad decision in buying this less expensive ticket. If I had spent more money on the ticket, these problems would have been avoided. I’m not as professional as I should be.” The truth is — none of those statements are true. The actual trip ended up being fine. Money could not have prevented a lightning storm in Denver. Criticizing myself is not an option, and that is a life lesson I seem to relearn every day.
The best news: when I got to the gate in Frankfurt to catch my last leg, after doing yet another massive run of miles through the airport (I counted - eight fast walkers!) my watch announced: “Congratulations! Record-breaking workout!” I have a sense that this trip is going to kick my ass and get me in all sorts of shape.