I balked at my prospects realizing how late I was arriving at Hartsfield-Jackson and chose instead to ditch the rental car FAST, catch the train, get through security, and race to my gate in hopes of angelic intervention and a miracle. Running is never a good idea for a fifty three year old woman whose last comfort stop was by necessity a rural roadside bush an entire hour outside of the beltway. Once a mother has birthed three children, jogging through airports, springing on trampolines, or landing ski jumps present unique challenges beyond coordination. Today was no different.
With literally only thirty seconds to spare, I strode down the jetway at my gate triumphantly, grateful for my serendipitous choice of outfits which included hikers and an athletic jacket that could ever so fashionably be tied around my waist in such a way as to conceal. There is a God in Heaven!
In years past, I would have been mortified by my situation. The indignity suffered may have humiliated me in my younger days, but I admit, the ludicrousness of my airport dash left me smiling, as did the jolly old man with the Monopoly-esque black top hat, and the teen wearing bunny ears that draped to her waist on the tram. Certain to elicit a smile from my now adult daughter with hidden disabilities, I took the time to text clandestinely snapped pics to her, the same daughter who used to cause most of the stares directed my way.
Half the stress of our children's public tantrums comes from caring more about glares than about how to diffuse tension for the sake of our child.
I discovered that sometimes the best way to shift a situation was to see the immediate humor. It is easy to focus on the meltdowns as we raised my daughter with hidden disabilities, but just as often as the rages, she laughed uproariously. She was born knowing what was funny. I learned to see the humor in otherwise stressful situations, like when in a waiting room and I was reading James Dobson’s The Strong Willed Child, while my daughter kicked and screamed, rolling around on the floor by my feet. And that was my neuro-typical child.
Joy comes easily to me now. Absurdity is truly hilarious, as soon as I stopped caring about what other people thought. I will never stop caring about how other people feel, but what they think about me when I am doing the best that I can with the situation I am facing, no longer concerns me in the slightest.
Why wait until you are old for this freedom?