Turbulence

Turbulence.
Nobody likes it.
No one.
Anywhere.
Ever.
Just the word itself brings to mind things falling off shelves and people shaking in their seats. Turbulence is choppy seas and jackhammers and potholes and Facebook groups where you are banned for your opinions. Turbulence is sweaty and puke green. It isn’t pleasant.

I experienced severe turbulence on a recent flight into Dallas. So severe, that the flight attendant TOOK MY VODKA after only a few sips. Not just mine, of course; the entire plane had to give up their beverage, which is a shame, because I, in no way, enjoy turbulence and the vodka would have helped. Also, I really like vodka.

But it was just as well, because minutes after the last cup been collected, and the flight attendants told to “take their seats,” the plane began to shake.
And rattle.
And drop, only to steady itself and drop again.
I’m not prone to motion sickness, but this was something else. This felt like a Tilt-a-Whirl at 30,000 feet. My stomach was queasy. I felt hot. Stressed. And more than a little worried. I felt like William Shatner in that “Twilight Zone” episode where he sees a creature on the wing. Sweat began to trickle under my bra. I reached up to turn on the air above me and that’s when I heard it.

And drop, only to steady itself and drop again.
I’m not prone to motion sickness, but this was something else. This felt like a Tilt-a-Whirl at 30,000 feet. My stomach was queasy. I felt hot. Stressed. And more than a little worried. I felt like William Shatner in that “Twilight Zone” episode where he sees a creature on the wing. Sweat began to trickle under my bra. I reached up to turn on the air above me and that’s when I heard it.

Laughter.

It was coming from a few seats up. The sound of children’s laughter. Giggles, even. Each time the plane made a sudden dip, I heard it again. At first, I thought I had simply misunderstood the sound. After all, the plane felt as though it was going to fall out of the sky; no one could be laughing during this, unless they were crazy or drunk. My vodka had been taken from me, so I wasn’t even close to drunk. And although I do always feel one event away from crazy, I wasn’t deep enough in that territory yet to consider a 65-ton aircraft flying through a storm a laughable situation.

And then I saw it: two tiny hands sticking straight up in the air. Yes, a few seats ahead of me were two small children, sitting in a row with their dad—children with their hands up in the air like they were riding a freaking roller coaster. One was so tiny, the hands didn’t even clear the headrest.

And I smiled.

Because while the rest of the plane was clutching their arm grips and making deals with Jesus, these two children were LOVING the turbulence.

They were excited about it.
They welcomed it.
They were yelling, “BOOYAH!” each time the plane left their stomach behind.
For them, this shaking and dropping was nothing to be afraid of.
Instead of fighting it, they were strapped into their seats, riding it like tiny bad-ass Southwest Airlines warriors, hands stuck straight up in the air, eager for the next drop.

What I processed as FEAR, they processed as FUN.

And sure, one can argue they are kids, and that they don’t know any better and that, like puppies, they don’t have the capacity to fully grasp a scary situation, and to compare oneself to two small children is absurd… but I disagree.

I happen to think they’ve got this whole “Life Thing” figured out.

xoxo