The Journey

I've never been much of a poetry guy, but one day my wife brought home one of those little coffee table books, the kind they sell at the check out line. It was titled Ten Poems To Change Your Life.  A pretty over rated claim for a $14 book with ten random poems, but then who doesn't want to change at least a part of their life now and then, so I picked it up and read.

Buried in the book is a short poem by Mary Oliver that spoke so deeply to my wife and I that it actually changed our lives. I share it with you. If it speaks to you like it did to us good. If not, hang on to it and some day it will give you the courage to start the  journey you've been putting off too long.

The Journey

"One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice-
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do-
determined to save
the only life that you could save."

Someone once said, "Only those who risk going too far will really know how far they could go."  I like to say, and I'm sure I stole it from someone so long ago I think its mine, "If you're not living on the edge you're taking up too much space." And so I leave you with the words of one of my best travelling buddies who often asks, but only rhetorically, "What could possibly go wrong?"

I thought I knew all the tricks

So I thought I new all the tricks of travel. Having flown over a million miles in the last couple of years, I've developed a small arsenal of tricks to make travel more comfortable. For example I've discovered that the aisle seat and the window seat in the emergency exit row are sat in on every flight, because of the extra leg room. As a result those cushions are smashed flat.

If by good fortune you get assigned an emergency exit row, it is imperative that you get on early enough to pull the seat cushion, which of course you know is removable because it can be used as a floatation device in the "unlikely" event of a water landing, and replace it with a middle cushion from a less desirable row.

These kinds of tricks make the flight more comfortable, and more exciting. The game is to see if you can get the seat cushion swapped without getting busted by the flight attendant, or reported for being a terrorist doing something funny to the seat.

So today I'm flying from San Diego to San Francisco and I get on early to claim some overhead space and settle into my coveted aisle seat. Just as the flight is filling some clown comes down the aisle carrying a plastic cup of water sans the lid. I'm thinking, "what kind of idiot carries a cup of water on the plane when you have all that carry on luggage to cram into the over head space". Well, its the kind of idiot that is seated in the middle seat beside me, that's what kind of idiot carries water onto the plane. As you know it takes a considerable amount of negotiations and contortions just to get you and your stuff on the plane.

So I'm watching this water carrying clown eyeballing my row and inwardly pleading with the travel gods that "this cup might pass me", when the Goof stops and indicates that he has been assigned the middle seat. As I get out of my seat so he can pass he "accidentally" pours some of the water into my seat. There it is, a standing puddle, in the middle of my seat. I'm slack jawed as I consider the options. It is then that he turns to me and says,"Would you like my middle seat. I'll let you out during the flight if you need to walk around?" Of course I'll need to walk around, I'm crammed in the middle seat!

I thought I'd seen it all.

As I cram myself into his dry center seat I take only a small satisfaction in knowing he has to sit in a puddle of water. Of course once he had soaked up the water with his 501's I informed him that I wanted my seat back.

Of course the other option, if I hadn't been so dumbfounded would have been to switch seat cushions so he could enjoy his wet pants in the middle of the row where he belonged.

From now on, when assigned a middle seat, I'm carrying a cup of water on the plane.