Flight

So I flew for the first time last month ...

Isn't it beautiful? That's Washington, D.C. - I had to go to the East coast on a work trip, my very first time flying, staying in a hotel without my family, and sleeping hundreds of miles away from home. I had crippling panic attacks and only slept about five hours the whole four-day trip felt very mature and accomplished as I lugged my giant wheely cart along with all the other red-eyed, watch-checking people in business suits and slip-on shoes, and I felt very proud of myself each morning when I coolly joined my colleagues in the hotel lounge for breakfast on time, as opposed to my normal last-second half-dressed dashes.

***

I learned a lot about myself on that trip. First and foremost, I love flying. Like every good INFP, I felt something awaken and rise in my spirit the first time I felt the ground fall away beneath me and knew I was soaring toward the sky. Even though my little charter plane was still much more cushioned than, say, a private two-seater, it was one of the most exhilarating experiences in my recent memory, and I'm doing my best to drop hints to my boss to let me travel again soon. I definitely see a pilot's license in my distant future!

***

The second thing I learned was that I am far more tied to my family, my surroundings, and my daily routine than I realized I was. It makes sense objectively, seeing as how I've led a very sheltered and uneventful life; but as I described it to my mom when I got home, I genuinely didn't know who I was once I was left in my hotel room alone. Sitting on the bed with unfamiliar ship and ocean sounds booming through the night, hearing strangers on the other side of the wall, knowing that my family was hundreds of miles away, I felt like I had been cut adrift - not just from my home, but from my self. I found nothing inside myself to hold onto and feel consistency, and although I did my best to read my Bible and pray, my extreme exhaustion and deeply physical anxiety/panic made it basically impossible to focus. The only thing I found that calmed me down and brought me back to some level of self-control was watching The Avengers on TV. (I think that says something about me, too, but I haven't figured out what yet.)

So what I drew from that experience was that I need to travel more. I need to cut myself away from the daily routine and learn to find those things that are the same no matter where I go, and learn to orient myself around those. God's presence in my heart and His love for me. The books and music I love. The little routines that are my own, like reading my evening devotions on my tablet with the lights off (I didn't do that the first night, and I did the second night, and it made a difference). And most of all, I need to learn how to see and feel God's presence as a true reality - not a rote verse printed in Times New Roman on the wall of my mind, but a living, breathing, talking relationship with a Father Whom I truly know, rely on, and run to. I learned that I don't have that, and I want it. I need it! I need it if I'm ever going to be free to go and see and do things, because when I am completely in fellowship and communion with God, then I will always be home, no matter where I may be.

***

Almost to Washington, D.C. - look at the sunset!

And finally, the third thing I learned was that all of those cheesy songs about the joy of going home are actually true. Oh yes, they are. The last night of my trip, I stood waiting with my coworkers outside a jam-packed airport restaurant, waiting wearily for a spot to open and for my delayed flight to arrive. I was dirty, exhausted, hungry, and nauseated from anxiety. Once I got into the restaurant, my food took forever to arrive; the TV blasting news above my head was full of dreary doomsday stories - it was one of those horror situations that you read about in books right before something awesome is about to happen.

And for me, it did: I saw a man wearing a sweatshirt from my university.

Suddenly, everything was okay. My luggage was lighter, my feet didn't hurt, and it didn't really take that long for my food to arrive after all. I was going home. A little piece of home had arrived to accompany me home on my journey. And with every mile that rushed away underneath my wings, I lightened and relaxed and started to smile - I was even able to sleep at last, during the last flight of the journey. Driving through the rain and fog into my sad, imperfect little town felt like riding onto the royal grounds in a white coach, because it was home, and my family was waiting at the other end of the road.

I used to listen to songs about home and chafe a little bit, because I'd never really been away from home and I wanted to see more of the world; but having been on that road myself now, I can sing along wholeheartedly with the old adage "Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home!"

***

What about you, sister? What have your experiences been with travel? Do you enjoy it? Or are you more of a homebody, like I'm realizing I am after all?  :-)

Love,
Vicki