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| Please note the glazed over look I'm sporting, it's a look I've perfected and am thinking about patenting and something I wear frequently when traveling with my kids ... love these boys on some early morning flight in 2014 |
A few years back I was seated next to a very nice gentleman
visiting America from Jamaica. He had a broad, bright smile, warm eyes and a
habit of spreading his hands easily in front of him every time he spoke. He chatted
with me in his native tongue of Jamaican Patois; a mix of English, French,
Spanish and various West African languages. Admittedly, the language barrier
meant I only understood about every sixteenth word he spoke. But he was so nice,
that I smiled encouragingly and nodded in agreement mumbling “uh huh” whenever
there was a pause in the conversation. His accent hypnotic, his words shafts of
wind that gently lulled me into a contented state. I’d close my eyes and feel
the waves of sound wash into me, swaying me gently on a hammock of nouns and adjectives.
He’d pause and I’d open my eyes, offer him a bag of pretzels mumble “Mmmm hmmm:
and possible agree to queries I didn’t understand, “Would you please deposit
$78,677.00 into my back account in small bills?” “Uh huh.” “I have a small herd
of goats, would you be willing to house them in your backyard?” “Mm hmmm.” Luckily
I was spared from agreeing to donate a kidney to his sister when we were jolted
from our lazy conversation by severe turbulence. While approaching the runway, our
aircraft was caught in an intense wind shear which literally flipped our plane
temporarily on its side. *At this point it’s worth noting a miracle occurred,
and the words flowing out of my new friend’s mouth made perfect sense to me! I
could understand Jamaican Patois!!! The words sounded just like English. They
were repetitive, perfectly enunciated and they all started with the letter F.
Needless to say, it took four different approaches and four
different “feel better bags” I had scrounged for my friend -and by friend I mean K1 Visa
fiancé: the rough flight had bound us together and I consented… (Sorry Russ) ”mmmm-hhmmm”
before we successfully landed. As we taxied to the gate, I confessed the flight
had shaken me up, but one look at (the love of my life obviously if you ask the
immigrant officer) my friend, and I could tell this had been more than just a
bump in the road to him. He raised his head from the cradle of his hands,
looked mournfully at me and asked in stilted, aching English, “How will I ever
fly again?”
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| Alex and I on our way to Kona, Hawaii to celebrate his 18th birthday with friends |
I’ve thought back to this day often and the haunting query,
“How will I ever fly again?”
The other day I overheard another anxious traveler say to
her son, “If only we didn’t have to land I wouldn’t mind flying.” The little
boy replied, “If we don’t land Mama, we’ll never make it to Disneyland.” The
problem with never landing is that life stuck in a holding pattern is no life.
Believe me, I know. A holding pattern is a course flown by an aircraft while
waiting for permission to land. In essence it’s a place of waiting. Being in a place of waiting, or as we sometimes call it,
“being stuck” keeps us from making progress, moving forward, deplaning and
buying an overpriced churro. For the autistic, being stuck sometimes manifests
itself through “perseverating” (repeating or prolonging an action thought or
utterance) like the hours of operation at National Parks or why you should sue
the Special Olympics or how Spencer has ruined your life. It can also manifest itself through “stimming”
(self-stimulatory behavior; repetition of physical movement or sounds) like
opening and closing a sliding door, 5,988,000 times in a row.
Holding patterns are not just for the autistic, it seems I’m
constantly getting caught in the clouds, waiting to descend. The thing is, I
have a flight plan. I have a destination. I WANT some chocolate dipped mickey
ears danggit!! So, what keeps me from landing? (Well….how much time do you
have? Is there a couch handy I can lay down on?) In my decent *while listening
to the four year old tell his mother the rides he wanted to go on first, I came up with a few ideas of why I get caught
in holding patterns.
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Okay sometimes a holding pattern isn't always bad :)
BUT this was actually descending into Jackson 2014
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Holding patterns are soothing and safe. For me, the number one
reason why I don’t land and deplane is fear. All caps please. F-E-A-R. Like my
Jamaican fiancé, (and everyone else on this planet) I have experienced some moments
of severe turbulence, which has led to avoidance. (I’ll just circle for a
bit…because I DON”T want to go through that again!).
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| My boys boarding; sweet Logan waving goodbye. Summer 2015 |
*This is the part where I talk about a moment of severe turbulence
;) Just last week I was in Arches National Park with Alex and my parents. We
took a quick break from driving so I could climb to the top of an arch. I’d
made the hike before, it was a fairly fast and steep climb. I told Alex he
could stay with his grandparents, come with me to the top, or come part way and
wait for me in the middle. He said he’d go with me. We started hiking up, it
was steep, it was hot, he was hungry and it was sensorial overwhelming. We got
to the middle and Alex asked if we could turn around. I explained he could go
back, or wait for me, but I was going to top as I’d mentioned previously.
(Please note. Alex finds it WILDLY insulting if you ‘accuse” him of
misunderstanding or ever use the phrase
“mentioned previously.” Are you calling him a liar?!!! HE CAN HEAR FINE THANK
YOU VERY MUCH! ARE YOU SAYING HES STUPID? HE DOESN’T MISUNDERSTAND! EVER! Basically flexibility would be
his best skill). He determined we were going back because I had lied to him
(obviously). *This is the part where it’s a bit like going to war with a tired,
hungry irrational toddler; (who happens to be the size of a college linebacker).
This is the part where I grit my teeth because I think it’s important to –whenever
humanly possible- do what I say I’m going to do and not cave to his demands. No
means no. I restated his choices and
told him I was going to continue. He said I was forcing him to come along
because he hated waiting for me worse that he hated hiking after me. And so I
continued up the trail, with Alex a few paces behind me shouting, “You are a
LIAR!” and “You’re ruining what should have been a nice day.” And variations of
the many, MANY ways I suck. I got to
the top of the arch before him, where some lovely senior citizen was calmly
perched on a rock, having a moment of peaceful reflection as she took in the stunning
scenery (poor, poor lovely senior citizen). She could hear Alex groaning and
thought she’d offer some kind words of encouragement (poor, poor, poor lovely senior citizen). Let’s just
say you can see where this is going…. I’ll just type the words “fetal-ball” and
we will all move on. F-E-T-A-L (curl in tightly now, you don’t want to come
untucked) B-A-L-L.
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Please note my angry 18 year old in the background; and the curiously empty arch :)
Just about to Moab, Utah May 2016
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Life in a holding pattern is a state or period where no
progress or change is made or planned. It’s being apathetic, it’s just getting through it. Which in all honesty there are
periods of time when that is ALL you can do; weeks 36-40 of pregnancy. After having
twins. The loss of a loved one. Helping your kid with their Algebra homework. But
avoiding a goal, a destination, or growth because of fear of landing is no
life. Anxiety gums up the gears because turbulence
bites! Because traumatizing nice reflective senior citizens IS traumatizing. So,
when that happens (which I’m sorry to say is frequently the case) I tend to
slip back into the ruts of routine because it’s comfortable, and getting out of
a holding pattern often takes a catalyst of crisis for movement to happen (and
I’m exhausted with crisis). Take for instance how Eagles learn to fly (we watch
a lot of nature documentaries in our house). First, the mother presses the
eagles to the edge of the nest, then she will fly around in front of the eaglet
(who is fearfully tottering on the edge flapping her wings) giving both the example
and inspiration of flying, if this doesn’t inspire the eaglet to fly, don’t
worry, the mother will just shove the bird out of the nest (naturally). Crisis
can be a strong motivator.
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I love this photo I shot when landing in Jackson, forest fires made the air smoky and the sunset just sang.
Please note the mountains reflected in the plane.
Jackson Hole, Wyoming, summer 2014
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I’ve wondered what specific fears or reservations have kept
me in a holding pattern, flapping nervously at the edge of the nest. Here is a
raw, unflinching look at what I believe keeps me from forward movement.
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| I love the moutains at sunrise; seriously open the shade 2015 |
I put off personal goals/aspirations to deal with day to day
stuff (like feeding my children –they are so needy three times a day are you
kidding me?- or cleaning the bathroom –does anyone even try to aim? Or dealing
with a melt down on aisle five) therefore important
things (*please note, I do believe mothering is the most important thing I do
so simmer) get put on hold for another day, and another day becomes another
week and another month and another year.
I trip on fear; it keeps me focused on the past and worried
about the future, even if for the moment we are ok. For example, we might be
having a lovely flight to California, the boys happily munching on pretzels and
sipping sprite, meanwhile my mind is racing about the last time I tried to go
to Disneyland and Alex attempted to decapitate his brother with his light saber
when he didn’t get picked for Jedi training camp while yelling, “Disneyland;
where all your nightmares come true!!” And I never even made it within a five
mile radius of the churro stand.
I am scared to leave the safety of the nest. “Will these
wings work? Can’t someone just bring some take-out-worms or something, I’ve got
chop sticks hidden next to that piece of red yarn?” I am afraid of letting go
of the familiar; I know how to deal with a melt down on aisle five but aisle six?
Ugh, next to the Ragu jars? DISASTER! The rut of routine is a cushioning curve
I dig into. Fear of the unknown can trip me up, even though I know if I keep
looking back I’ll never move forward (but it burns!). Fear of change is a big
reason I keep circling in the air and goes hand in hand with fear of being inadequate
or unprepared.
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I love landing with this kid;
early morning in California just as the sun was rising; break out the shades! 2015
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Fear of failure; if I embrace change and fail. Then what? I
equate failure with embarrassment, even though history is filled with examples
of the best results that come as people walk through failure and in the process
of recovery learn the biggest lessons and make the greatest leaps forward. *Now
is the part where a lightbulb (both metaphorically and physically) can go off
over your head and maybe you’ll want to google the story of Thomas Edison.
Fear of disapproval; rejection or being alone; there is
something in me that is constantly looking outward for validation. Tell me I’m
good please!! (Which don’t try to get that from reflective senior citizens or
you will be disappointed every time wink wink).
Fear does have its place; is raw emotion; it’s unfiltered
anxiety and can potentially protect us from painful fatal situation. I am afraid
of walking in front of a bus, putting my finger in the fan, drinking Clorox or
telling my son to put on deodorant because I know the outcome of such behavior.
Rational fear is good fear it protects us. On the other hand we have
experiences that create irrational fears; painful past memories or situations
cause us to anticipate a similar negative experience (which is why I may break
out in hives when approaching Alex’s middle school) irrational fears keep us
circling, waiting for dispatch to tell us (again) that it’s safe to land.
The trick is, if I’ve learned ANYTHING in my past 41 years; I’ve
learned you have to land. You have
to. You can’t keep circling or you’ll never make any progress, which leads to frustration
and depression and binge buying self-help books on Amazon and missing IEP
meetings because you were engrossed in yet another Ted talk. You have to drop
the wheels, descend gradually and taxi to the gate and deplane because Disneyland is magical. The top of the Arch spectacular (even
with your 18 year old kicking rocks in your general direction which is saying a
lot) and the wind ruffling your feathers
as you accomplish a goal soul filling.
And so my mantra has become: I will let faith replace my
fears. I will descend gradually and cautiously, but I WILL descend. I will
follow my flight plan. I will not give in to the damp musty grip of fear that tries
to choke the breath right out of my lungs. I will eat a damn churro and I will
remember that hope is buoyant and bright. And no matter how dark of a night I am
stuck in, hope is the sunrise I’m waiting for, and the sun ALWAYS rises.
And then as my second chute, if my mantra fails I will
remember that if I never land I’m never going to meet my future in-laws, (and
my mother-in-law promised to braid my hair and I’m pretty sure my K-1 fiancé
said he was going to buy me a rock the size of Texas, that or, he’d like me to
brand his heard of cows.
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| Traditional I survived the trail jumping shot in front of the arch. Just try to keep me down!! (A fetal ball is surprisingly easy to spring back from) BOOM! Moab Utah, 2016 |
