LUGGAGE Lady

Contemplations about Life, Love, & the Pursuit of Meaningful Existence…

Archive for the category “Travel”

Redefining Happy

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The greatest privilege of being a flight attendant is crossing paths with passengers who completely transform your day life…

🌻🌻🌻

Born three months early and diagnosed with cerebral palsy, Jon’s future appeared hopeless. The doctors told his parents that his brain’s frontal lobe deformation was such that he’d likely never be more than a vegetable.

They were wrong.

Jon rolled down the jetway in a motorized wheelchair, which allowed him to stand upright, looking like Robert Downey Jr. in the Iron Man movie. His megawatt smile and larger-than-life personality swiftly amplified my superhero impression. When I asked where he was headed, he proudly informed me that he’d been selected as one of only seventy college students nationwide to participate in a five-day leadership conference. He’d be giving several motivational speeches.

“I love talking. Put a tree in front of me, and I’ll talk to it.” He laughed. “My plan, once I get my master’s, is to be a motivational speaker. I’ve already produced a few short films, and I’m writing a book.”

“What’s it about?” I asked, thinking I had a fairly good idea.

“It’s about how the definition of happy is completely inaccurate,” he said, upending my presumption. “Happiness isn’t a single emotion. It’s the ability to appreciate all emotional states, learning and growing from both positive and negative experiences. People buy all these self-help books on how to be happy when they really just need to constructively connect with the world around them. Happiness isn’t an adjective — it’s a verb.”

“Impressive wisdom coming from a college kid.” I winked.

“Well, I wasn’t always so smart.” He fidgeted with his cell phone. “In high school I got a little depressed, focusing on all the stuff I couldn’t do. Fortunately, my mom is a very smart lady. She let me wallow in self-pity exactly three days before dragging me out to visit a kid born with my same condition. There I was, staring into the eyes of a boy roughly my age, except he can’t move, can’t speak, can’t feed himself — nothing. He wasn’t as lucky as me!”

I nodded, fingernails sinking into my palms to keep the tears at bay.

“Anyway, like I was saying,” he continued, “happiness boils down to how you choose to interact with the world. A perfect example occurred just this morning coming through security. When the TSA spoke to my travel assistant, their tone was totally normal. But when they turned to me, their voices slowed and shot up several decibels, as if they were speaking to a kindergartener. Was I going to let that ruin my day? No way, Jose! I started joking around with them until they were clutching their bellies. By the time they finished scanning all my metal parts, I’m pretty sure they saw me as someone not all that different from themselves.”

He shrugged. “And that’s my secret to happiness. When others treat me with indifference or disrespect, I surprise them with a story, a joke — whatever I think is going to dispel the negative cloud the quickest. Most people are so accustomed to confrontation, they don’t even know how to process this. Then, something shifts, and their entire disposition changes. That’s super cool to watch.” His smile illuminated the cabin.

“You’d make a great flight attendant.”

His eyes lit up. “I’d even sing!”

Mind Over Mountain

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The mountain looms. Ignoring the “I can’ts” lobbing across my mind. Altitude accentuating the agony. Hammering heartbeat. Inferior lungs. Exhaling in a humiliating whoosh. The peak well above my comfort zone. Weighted legs. Stalling. A gulp of metallic water from my canteen. Sun and wind chaffing. A flicker of reverence launching untapped stamina — I’m traversing a portion of the intricate 25,000-mile Inca road system!

Santos, our Inca Shaman darts by. He’s hiking in sandals (!), playing a wooden flute-like instrument. I wonder what he thinks of this out-of-shape gringo gasping for air? He pauses in the distance. Incapable of speaking his native tongue, I ask for a picture in Spanish. He smiles, waving me over.

Later, he leads our group of twelve in a ceremony at the edge of a luminous glacier lake. He distributes symbolic coca leaves and we cling to their divinity as he begins chanting in hushed Quechua. Our Peruvian guide translates:

Release your negativity. Leave it here in the wide embrace of the Andes. Be free of debilitating thoughts. Let them go. They drag you under. Forgive yourself. Forgive others. Disappointment, grudges, and bitterness destroy. Know in this moment, you have all you need: the sustaining sun, soothing air, purifying water, guiding stars, protective mountains, and exalting skies. The moon’s pull to keep you centered, the soil to nourish. Mother Earth always provides, ready with healing hand. Use this restorative energy. Envision family, friends, those suffering you’ve never met. Lift them up with your compassion. We have nothing more valuable to give the world — or each other.

We clutch hands, stitching our circle tighter. Snow loses its grip on a nearby cliff, triggering a small avalanche amidst our tranquility. A Condor swoops gracefully. Both men intensely engaged in their sacred ritual. Who am I to be standing in such a surreal natural sanctuary? I close moist eyes and picture the Southern Cross dancing in last night’s sky, wondering how I’ll ever translate such marvel to another. I tuck the memory into a deep pocket of my brain, hoping I’ll find a way.

Back home, I study our photographs, trying to recapture the rush of accomplishment, to harness the spirited Inca drive. I mean — who possesses such moxy as to erect cities and trails upon alarmingly precarious territory? I observe people all around me facing everyday mountains, trouncing obstacles with unparalleled grit, and I ask:

What’s the magic ingredient that propels an individual to exceed mediocrity — striving for excellence in every pursuit?
 



Soulfully Awake…Standing in Awe

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Just a blip on life’s stage

Passing through history’s dense corridor

Lost civilizations mocking

Whistling my insignificance across snapping winds

Footprints gobbled by swirling dust

Was I ever even there?

The sun bores into my heart

Exposing my humanness

Yesterday’s drama devoured by thunderous waterfalls

I scrounge uncomfortably

Clamoring for excuses

Why do I succumb

To living so small

When I’m nothing but a speck in time?

My tongue thickens

Leaves me to swallow words unformed

But in subsequent muteness

Tears of determination cleanse my scope

And slowly I rise

I may be but a flickering flame against a ravenous night sky

Yet

Wherever the trail leads from this step forward

I have gleaned the dauntless spirit

Of all who have pummeled this path before

Teetering on possibility’s edge

Soulfully Awake…Standing in Awe

***

I return with brimming heart, Dear Readers, from a journey that afforded mesmerizing glimpses of Peru and Alaska. Blessed to experience the magnificent natural wonders of our planet, but also to lay a hand across the pulse of hardiness, innovation, and unyielding gusto coursing throughout our human lineage — I can’t wait to catch up with everyone and appreciate your patience so…

Not Goodbye — Just So Long for Now

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I remember lugging my backpack around Europe in the summer of ’88, enviously eyeballing the tour operators in their air-conditioned buses and thinking, must be nice. Soon though, it became clear that those peering from behind the fancy tinted windows were limited to staged visits at predetermined sites — extemporaneous exploration excluded. At twenty-one, immortality remained a reality but a wisp of doubt lingered: Perhaps bucket list pursuits came with a use-by date?

When I met my husband, he sported a fused ankle bone with a few steel screws drilled in for good measure (a youthful act of…let’s just say a lapse in judgment he’ll never forget). Besides triggering airport security (ever spy that airline captain standing spread-eagle?😜 ), the impeded mobility continues to challenge. Therefore, we never squander opportunities that may prove impossible tomorrow.

Blessed to work in an industry that allows generous vacation time and travel deals, we’re off to hike Machu Picchu — an itinerary that has us traipsing some forty miles through the Andes at altitudes exceeding 15,000 feet. We’ve been training, but I’m more harvest hen than spring chicken and hope I haven’t overestimated my prissy-girl parameters to my own detriment. Just praying I’m not the one they strap atop the poor rescue mule.

As this Bag Lady vanishes from the grid for a while, I wish you renewed celebration of life’s true fortunes: Smile ’til your cheeks ache, laugh readily with wild abandon, love yourself and all you touch whilst delighting in your every aspiration! I’ll be hyperventilating beneath celestial Peruvian skies…

Not Goodbye — Just So Long for Now! ♥♥♥

Hometown Tourist

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Melting into your trance

We scamper aboard

Eager passengers

In pursuit of surprise

Sweep us from the ordinary

Rivet our senses

Broaden our character

Unearth perspective anew

Many dream of traveling “someday…”

But life’s obligations intervene

Time and money earmarked for other things

Yet

Adventure beguiles daily

No pricey ticket or suitcase required

Come hither

Sidle up

To that well-grooved chair in the corner cafe

Throw your heart’s eyes open

Hone your gaze

Feast upon the flurry of everyday charm

Donning the inquisitive mindset of a

Hometown Tourist…

In Depth’s Absence, Impressions Still Endear

 

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As a novice kayaker, I assumed the best technique was to plunge my oar deeply, keeping it submerged as long as possible to maximize forward mobility. This strategy worked in short bursts but quickly drained my spindly limbs.

Fortunately, in preparation for an eight-hour jaunt around Kauai’s Na Pali Coast, our instructor taught us the swift and shallow approach. Loosely gripping our paddles with elbows extended as if a beach ball rested in our laps, we were to catch, propel, and release the water. Relying on core and leg muscles, I completed the trek without requiring rescue — which made me wonder whether poor form hindered other facets of my life?

Now, I’d been called “a bit intense” on more than a few occasions, so the concept of surfacy interactions seemed akin to dreaming in a foreign language. Yet, my “what’s-the-quinessential-meaning-of-life” tendencies prickled carefully guarded comfort zones. I started appreciating the ease with which others established speedy rapport and noticed how, even brief snippets of connectivity, still resonated.

These days, just as I study the tide and current tables before launching my kayak on the San Francisco Bay, I’m keenly cognizant of those who seek a buffer from overly animated, philosophical sorts like me. And, although the temptation to thrust my paddle well beneath the surface beckons, I gingerly reel myself back several notches — knowing:  In depth’s absence, impressions still endear.

Bounteous Spirits Populating My Journey

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With each venture

The globe magically reveals herself

Pearl after generous pearl

A trend emerging

The fellow traveler’s warm disposition

Exchanging secret paths

Recommending hidden treasures

Gesturing down cobblestone alleyways

Eager to share establishments ripe with local flair

Extending genuine invitations

To be their guest

Halfway around the world

Kindhearted souls

Connecting in a manner

Seldom afforded in everyday life

Comrades in adventure

Life-enhancing encounters

Bounteous spirits populating my journey

Around the World on a Few Magical Phrases

As a privileged guest in over forty countries, I always try to pack basic foreign language skills. I’m not talking about investing in a Rosetta Stone course for a two-day jaunt, but rather the simple gesture of memorizing phrases such as: “hello,” “please,” and “thank you” that will seamlessly bridge a pathway to positive encounters. Best of all? There’s no need to stress over the precise pronunciation.

Case in point, on a recent journey through Poland to Hungary to Austria/Germany, I struggled less with my Polish and Hungarian (!) than I did with my German, where “thank you” stuck to the roof of my mouth before oscillating off my tongue in a tangle of incorrect vowels. On more than one occasion (I wish I could blame on Oktoberfest), I actually blurted out what sounded a whole lot like, “Thank you…Donkey,” leaving my husband to shield his red face.

We eventually queried our hotel receptionist in Vienna as to the degree of offense my mispronunciation might be causing. To my delight, he did not laugh, assuring me that no one would be the least bit insulted or confused by my efforts at gratitude.

So take it from the donkey lady herself, give the native language a gallant whirl and disregard any smirks or raised eyebrows (if only from your traveling companion). I promise your display of respect will supercede any enunciation gaffes…

Thank You Military Personnel

I was working a flight over Labor Day Weekend when one of our country’s finest came aboard. As flight attendants, we had three clues:

(1) His camouflage backpack.

(2) His humble attitude (he sat in the very last row).

(3) A fellow passenger who’d spoken with him in the gate area and couldn’t wait to tell us about our esteemed cargo, making certain we were aware he hadn’t been home from Afghanistan since Christmas!

He slept the duration of the flight, but upon landing our lead attendant announced that we had military personnel on board and could everyone kindly give him the courtesy of deplaning first? I’d heard about this respectful gesture being extended in various venues around our beautiful country, but until I stood at the front of that airplane and listened to the thunderous applause, while this brave defender of our freedoms marched up the aisle, high-fiving every passenger sitting on the aisle (with others reaching out as far as their limbs would allow — just to make contact), I had never experienced the magnitude of appreciation from my fellow citizens.

I am boundlessly grateful for the military men and women who keep us safe each and every day — and for those who take the time to acknowledge their service and sacrifice.

Relativity of a Bad Day

 

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Traffic jams, poor service, unexpected bills, rejection, an aloof neighbor, a bad hair day — whatever sends you sulking over to the woe is me corner. It’s all too easy to get caught up in our own drama, unraveling scrolls of examples to depict how the world is out to get us.

Then, something happens to detract your attention, morphing all those issues into utter trivia…

And so it was, I found myself in a crèche (orphanage for AIDS babies) in the Alexandra Township of Johannesburg, South Africa. The dwelling was no larger than two-hundred square feet. The floor lined with what looked like miniature blue yoga mats. These mats were not for fancy contortions, however, but rather beds where the children slept elbow-to-elbow. My heart pounded. I blinked. I swallowed.

We’d arrived early in the morning and the little ones were still sleeping, but when our guide introduced his “friends from America,” they rose, racing over to greet us. Throwing their arms around my knees — or wherever they could grab on — they hugged me as if I were someone special.

My day had begun with a malfunctioning alarm clock that sent my jet-lagged body scrambling, with no time for a shower, breakfast, or caffeine. Now, as I stood there with these precious little arms clinging to me, I felt uncontrollable emotion building. My so-called “problems of the day” — or any day for that matter — evaporated. I would never know true suffering. Gigantic eyes gazed curiously up at me, and I didn’t want them wondering why the silly American lady was sad. I promptly clamped teeth over my lower lip until I tasted blood and lowered myself to the floor so I could properly visit.

When the temptation arises to whine about life’s injustices, I try to recapture how I felt in that moment. Pity parties can attract a slew of fellow revelers and even be therapeutic on occasion, but in the end they are “parties” in comparison to the true hardships of the world.

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